


Brienne Without Jaime

by catherineflowers



Series: Me Without You [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because fuck Jaime, Canon-Typical Ableism, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Childbirth, Dealing with the serious consequences of what Jaime did, F/M, Heavy Angst, In a serious way, Me dealing with my s8 rage, No meadows in Tarth, Not A Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Pregnancy, don't mind me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/pseuds/catherineflowers
Summary: After Jaime's death by bricks, Lord Commander Brienne of Tarth discovers she is pregnant with his child and it forces her to deal with her feelings towards him in a powerful way.
Relationships: Addam Marbrand/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Me Without You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657714
Comments: 670
Kudos: 486





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainTarthister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/gifts).



> Okay, so season 8 messed me up. And I need to process it. It's taken me six months to really put this together and express my anger in a fic format, and I am VERY angry. I think Brienne should be, too.
> 
> So this isn't going to be a fix-it, it's going to be a fic where they deal with the actual consequences of what Jaime did, like adults with hurt feelings and complicated emotions. It's not always going to be a pleasant story, but it's going to be (hopefully!) realistic. Consider this a warning for angst and realism and occasional irrational behaviour from very damaged people.
> 
> Wrote this for my huge love and best best bestie CaptainTarthister as it's her birthday. Thank you for walking the hell of season 8 by my side <3

_“Ser Brienne of Tarth_

_Trained by Ser Goodwin at Evenfall Hall. Joined the forces of Lord Renly Baratheon during the War of the Five Kings and was named to his Kingsguard after her victory at the Melee at Bitterbridge. After the death of Lord Renly, pledged herself in service to Lady Catelyn Stark and was later charged with returning Ser Jaime Lannister to King’s Landing in exchange for her Lady’s daughters, Sansa and Arya Stark._

_Gifted the Valyrian steel sword Oathkeeper by Ser Jaime Lannister, rode North to fulfil a vow to her lady, since slain by the Freys during the Red Wedding. Defeated Sandor Clegane in single combat and executed Lord Stannis Baratheon to avenge Lord Renly._

_Rescued Lady Sansa Stark from the Boltons and pledged herself to her service, serving her both at Castle Black and later at Winterfell._

_Joined the forces of men at Winterfell, where Ser Jaime Lannister knighted her on the eve of the battle against the dead._

_Raised to Lord Commander of the Kingsguard by King Bran the Broken after the destruction of the capital by Daenerys Targaryen._

_Served as Lord Commander for three moons, until she was dismissed after discovering she was with child by Ser Jaime Lannister._

_Thereafter known as the Kingslayer’s Whore.”_

Brienne put down her pen. Her hand was trembling, her throat tight enough to strangle her.

She stood up slowly and undid her armour with trembling hands, the gold armour with the three-eyed-raven on the breastplate. Laid it carefully on the table by the White Book while she waited for the ink to dry.

The last line she had written was courtesy of her father; Selwyn Tarth had not minced words in his message telling her she was not welcome back at home.

_I appointed your cousin Trevas as my heir when you were raised to the Kingsguard,_ his scroll had read. _To have my daughter return to Tarth after all these years as the Kingslayer’s whore would not be at all appropriate._

Brienne picked up the scroll her father had sent. Put it in the fire and watched it burn.

_Kingslayer’s whore_.

She had not felt like Jaime’s whore while they were together at Winterfell. She had not felt like Jaime wanted a whore – he had never taken one before, after all. She had believed Jaime was a man who loved intensely and if he was _with_ her, if he was with _her …_ she had felt loved. Adored. The way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her, kissed her … the sweet sliding warmth of his body inside hers. The aching vulnerability of his eyes when being inside her had brought him to pleasure. Did men give that to whores? Her father would know. How many women had been through _his_ bedchamber in the years since her mother had died?

Jaime had taught her that men were capable of giving things to you even as they lied to you, that they could be deeply uncertain they wanted to be with you even as they asked your liege lady if they could stay by your side.

She had learned that Jaime could jump into a bear pit for her, but he couldn’t stand up to his brother, not even enough to tell him that a joke had gone too far. That he could have his hand cut off to save her virtue, but that he could also ride off in the night without saying goodbye. That he could cling to her like a drowning man for a moon, a whole moon, and then just … let go and let himself drown.

She had been such an innocent.

Everyone else had been right about Jaime. Brienne had just been his whore, and all the Valyrian steel swords in the world couldn’t change that.

Did she even want Oathkeeper?

She looked at it, the rubies, the gold, the lions. Once that had meant something. Once, it had been a hope, albeit a secret one she kept to herself. Why had he given her a sword that was a family heirloom? Why had he had a belt made that combined starbursts, moons and lions? Why did a large leather heart decorate the scabbard? Sometimes she had believed that had meant something. But she was no lion – Jaime had never intended her to be. The babe in her belly was no lion either.

She put the sword on the table next to her armour.

“It’s yours.”

Brienne looked up. Tyrion Lannister stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed and his eyes large and sad.

“It was never mine.”

“Give it to your child. Jaime would have wanted –“

“Jaime wanted his _sister_.”

“He wanted you, too.”

“Not enough.” Brienne closed her eyes. She was tired of thinking about it. Tired of that sick, empty feeling.

Tyrion came into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked troubled. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry things worked out this way – with – with the Kingsguard. You were a very capable Lord Commander, and for what it’s worth, I think this is a loss.”

Brienne said nothing. She thought of her father’s message, withering in the fire. _Kingslayer’s whore._ Her own father! It seemed there was a point at which all men stopped loving you. Unless you were Cersei Lannister, of course.

“I came to make you an offer.”

“Oh? You wish to find out for yourself what I’m like ‘down there’?”

Tyrion blanched. “Jaime told you?”

“He thought it a great joke. That only he in all the Seven Kingdoms knew – or would ever know. I took that to mean we would marry, but now I suspect he thought he was the only one who would ever have me.”

Tyrion looked pained. “It was … just talk. Between men, between brothers. I intended nothing disrespectful by it.”

Brienne sighed.

“I was pleased for him. Pleased he’d found happiness.”

“Pleased he finally had to climb for it?”

Tyrion winced again. “Again – just talk. Certainly not something I wished my brother to repeat.”

Brienne waved a hand. “What does it matter? He died. _Protecting his queen_.” The bitterness dripped from every word, she couldn’t help it. Being with child seemed to have made her angry.

“I would have your child legitimised.”

That pulled her up short. “What? Why?”

“I am the last Lannister. The last one who counts. Casterly Rock will need an heir and the child you carry is Jaime’s seed.”

“No,” she said. She picked up Oathkeeper. Put it down again.

“I think I could persuade the king to agree.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Why not? Don’t you think that’s short-sighted?”

“I don’t much care, my Lord. I have lost my position, my family, my home because I lay with Jaime Lannister … don’t you think giving my child his name can only make things worse?”

Tyrion shook his head. “What will you do?”

“I have found a billet just outside the city. I will stay there until the child comes and then … then I don’t know. There must be someone who would have use for my skills. Someone who can overlook my dishonour.”

“A sellsword? You plan to become a sellsword?”

“It seems to have worked out well for Ser Bronn.”

That was not the same, and both of them knew it. Ser Bronn was not a woman alone, nor was he the mother of a child.

“Think on it,” Tyrion said. “You may change your mind once the child arrives.”

“I want no charity from the man who goaded Jaime into taking my maidenhead.”

Tyrion took a step backwards. Wounded. “Is that how you feel?”

“I was drunk. He persuaded me to keep drinking after I told him I’d had enough. Then you brought up my maidenhood and … and _compelled_ him to take it.”

“I compelled him.”

“You set things up for him.”

“Did you not wish to bed my brother, Ser Brienne? That time or all the other times you bedded him? You sounded very enthusiastic about it from the corridor outside. And the courtyard below.”

Brienne felt her face flush furiously.

“Do you not perhaps think your failure to drink moon tea might be more to blame for your predicament than me playing a drinking game with you?”

“But …”

But they had been _together._ She and Jaime. She had thought … no. She couldn’t say it, not aloud. Saying it made her feel small and stupid. Like the maiden Tyrion had taken the piss out of.

She had thought they were going to get married, that they would have children together. If Jaime wanted her enough to fuck her, enough to kiss her, slowly and tenderly, to bite her neck and suck her nipples, enough to put his tongue inside her …

_No_.

Apparently, a man could do all of those things to the ugliest woman alive while wishing he was doing them to his sister.

“You both played me for a fool!”

Tyrion sighed. Looked at her with frustration and sorrow and then at the slight bump of her belly. “You loved him very much.”

“Please stop, my Lord. Please.”

He looked like he wouldn’t.

She picked up Oathkeeper, her hand on its hilt. “ _Stop_.”

He sighed. Held up both his hands.

“Please leave.”

“Of course, if that’s what you want. Good day, Ser Brienne.”

He gave her a stiff, almost comical bow, and took his leave.

Brienne shook, hard enough that Oathkeeper rattled in its scabbard. She swallowed her tears and turned back to her belongings. They had told her to leave by the end of the day.

She looked around the Lord Commander’s chambers, thinking of the first time she had entered them, believing them to be her home for the rest of her days. She had donned her armour and sat at the table, reading slowly through the White Book, feeling full of _right_ , full of _honour_.

She had found Jaime’s page and had the strength to complete it, feeling as though it was also the completion of her grief.

Life, she had thought, was about to begin again.

But there was a babe in her belly, even then. A burning wick she hadn’t even known about. Her life, it seemed, was to be forever tainted by that moon with Jaime. She would see him every time she looked at her child.

She went back to the table and picked up Oathkeeper, took it with her. What did it matter? She had a Lannister bastard now – a Lannister sword made little difference.

Ser Brienne of Tarth left the White Sword Tower without fanfare – the halls and stairwells were empty, as were the streets of the city for the most part. The population of King’s Landing was less than half the size it had been before Daenerys Targaryen and her dragon. Everyone who remained had the face of a ghost.

She left the city by the Mud Gate – the only gate that wasn’t a pile of rubble. She was alone, a hedge knight, the Kingslayer’s whore.

Her billet was a nice, a cosy set of rooms outside the city walls in an area that suddenly found itself much in demand thanks to the destruction of the city itself. Brienne had paid for seven moons up front with her Kingsguard retirement pay, and her grateful landlady had made the rooms nice for her in return, swept the floors and changed the rushes, put in fresh candles and replaced the threadbare rugs.

Leaning against the wall, unobtrusive as of yet, was a small wooden crib.

Brienne ignored it. Made a fire and then unpacked. She hung the crest of House Tarth on her wall and put her Northern furs on the bed, the ones from her chambers in Winterfell. She had brought them with her on her journey south - she still wasn’t sure why. Sometimes she thought they smelled like Jaime, like Jaime and her together. Sometimes she couldn’t bear that, and sometimes she needed it more than air.

The hour grew late, and her belly growled. She had nothing to eat.

Brienne had never considered herself a spoiled noblewoman, for all the servants she had grown up with. On the road, she had hunted and cooked for herself without a second thought. But here, in a house by herself, the thought that she would need to acquire food hadn’t occurred to her.

She donned a cloak and went to an inn for dinner, ate a kidney pie and some cake. Sat by herself and nursed an ale even though she knew drinking when she was with child was not a good idea. Then she went back to her new home, put some more wood on the fire and didn’t sleep at all.

It had been some time since Brienne had nothing to do – she had spent most of her adult life serving someone or another, with orders and duties to carry out. Pleasing herself did not come naturally. At first, she kept busy helping her neighbours, shovelling snow and helping them make repairs or fetch and carry from the markets. They were friendly enough, but everyone _knew_. She was the stupid woman dishonoured by the Kingslayer.

As her belly grew, she left her billet less and less. Her neighbours never called on her.

It took her a day and a half to bring Jaime’s bastard child into the world. She did as the woods witch bade her at first, pacing the floor between her pains, breathing through them, staying calm. She had fought the dead, faced them without fear – she was determined she would not be undone now by her own body.

But as the day turned to evening with no signs of the babe progressing, just hour after hour of miserable pain, she began to doubt her body’s ability to do what was after all the most womanly of things.

Somehow, someone had got word to Podrick – or perhaps he had just popped by to visit her. He appeared in her billet as the sun came up, just at the point where she was pleading with the woods witch to make the pain stop — telling her that she didn’t want a child, she really didn’t. She had only wanted to be a knight. The old woman laughed at her and told her every stupid girl who had spread her legs for a liar said the same at this point of their labour.

She didn’t want Podrick to see her like this, but gods, he had always been the most loyal squire there ever was, and he insisted that he would stay.

Stay he did, and his gentle voice and sweet, reassuring smile gave her the strength to carry on. He listened to her curse Jaime, gripping her hand as the pains seared through her, telling her she was strong and she could do this, letting her collapse against him between the agonising pushes.

The woods witch eased Brienne’s daughter into the world as the bright midday sun streamed through the windows of the billet. It glistened in the thick mess of blood on the floor where the old woman crouched between Brienne’s legs by the side of the bed.

The babe screamed lustily – she was not half so exhausted as her mother. Brienne stared at her in something akin to shock. She’d known there was a babe within her, of course, but she had not expected her to be quite so _real_.

Podrick cried unabashedly, tears streaming down his round face. He placed a kiss atop Brienne’s sweaty, tangled hair and called the babe beautiful.

The woods witch put the child on Brienne’s belly, hot and wet and screaming. Brienne’s arms went about the tiny creature almost on instinct. She was terrified to look at her – she did not want to see golden hair or green eyes or worst of all, Jaime’s nose. Anything, even inflicting her own face on her daughter, would be better than that.

But the babe looked much like a babe – squashed and wrinkled and quite without unique features.

“Do you have a name for her, Ser?” Podrick asked once the woods witch had shown her how to latch the babe to her breast.

Brienne did not. She looked down at the small creature, gulping hungrily, and it hit her. A sudden wave of intense protective instinct, unlike anything she had felt before. This was _her_ child. This was her _child._

The child she had made with Jaime. Something he left her, something he had given her – something she took from him that was _hers_.

He couldn’t take this love, not this one. The joke was on him for once - he had inadvertently given her a love that would last her a lifetime, something he couldn’t rip from her heart and give to his sister.

“Sapphire,” she said with defiance. Jaime couldn’t destroy _that_ moment, either. Nor could her father - she was no one’s whore, and the Sapphire Isle was still her home.

Podrick’s grin grew even wider.

Sapphire Storm, the Kingslayer’s bastard. It sounded like the beginning of a song some minstrel would play in a tavern.

The next week passed in a haze of exhaustion, endless feeding and waking in the night. Sapphire was a big babe, and she fed a lot, but the woods witch had been right – the size of Brienne’s breasts made no odds to how much milk she could produce. Sapphire was satisfied, content even, at least for the twenty minutes it took for her stomach to empty again.

It was the morning of the seventh day after Sapphire’s birth when there was a knock at the door of Brienne’s billet. She had received no visitors in months aside from Pod and the woods witch, and this would be an unusual time for either to call on her.

She limped to the door and opened it. There, a guard by his side, stood Tyrion Lannister.

“My Lord!” she said after a moment. Quite shocked.

“I heard you had been delivered of my niece,” he said.

“I have.”

“May I … pay her a visit?”

“She’s asleep.”

“I don’t expect her to entertain me.”

Brienne sighed. “Very well.”

She stood aside and held the door open for him. The guard stayed outside.

Brienne limped back to the bed, suddenly feeling vulnerable that she was still so obviously sore from birthing, that her tunic was milk-stained and that the floor by the bed still had a pink mark where she had been unable to scrub the blood from the flagstones.

Tyrion peered into the crib. He had a smile on his face.

“You named her Sapphire I hear?”

Brienne nodded.

“A beautiful name. She is beautiful as well.”

Sapphire Storm, bastard child of Brienne the Beauty. Another song for her.

“Have you thought any more about my offer?”

“The answer is still no.”

Tyrion sighed, but he did not look surprised. He looked about himself, at her billet. 

“If you will not take legitimisation, perhaps I might offer you something else? As a gesture of recompense from my family to you?”

“Please don’t. She’s not a Lannister; she needs nothing from you or your family.”

“It’s not for her; it’s for you. A job. Since you are now a sellsword.”

“What job?”

“There is a farm, near Casterly Rock, owned by my family. I believe it was used to house my ancestors’ mistresses so that they were close by without disgracing the family.”

He tried to smile. Brienne did not.

“Is that where Lannister whores go?”

For a moment, there was something murderous in Tyrion’s eyes, but it vanished as he blinked. “A farm. A small estate. It’s remote but self-sufficient. No one need know you were there, or would ever call you a _Lannister whore_ , if that’s your worry. I could put servants and a wet nurse and a Septa … whatever else the babe needs as she grows. But it’s not a favour. As I said, it’s a job.”

She almost rolled her eyes. Tyrion Lannister had a solution for everything, at least he thought he had. He was a clever man, and dangerous with it. He had supported the dragon queen until he hadn’t, pushed forward Jon Snow until he hadn’t, and somehow managed to persuade the lords to crown an unknown boy at his own trial and become his Hand.

“Before you say no …” He held up a hand. “It’s not charity. It’s not pity. It’s not me trying to make up for what my siblings have done; I’m old and wise enough to know I couldn’t do that if I devoted my entire life to the cause. It’s a real job.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to have to trust you with some information that could have … consequences for me. So … I hope you are still the honourable, upstanding knight that Sansa Stark trusted with her life.”

Brienne nodded. Once. Over in the crib, Sapphire stirred. Let out a cry and mouthed her fist.

“I’ve been hiding something there, quite a sensitive item that I took from the capital in the aftermath of Daenerys’ destruction. Something that might start a war if it got into the wrong hands. I need someone to guard it.”

“Guard it?” Brienne went to the crib and picked her babe out of it.

“I don’t want to put Lannister soldiers out there. That’s too much like drawing attention to the place and I would rather keep it under wraps. At the moment there are a few people to run the farm, but that’s it. No security.”

Sapphire rooted hungrily at her tunic. She sat on the bed to feed her.

Tyrion peered at her, trying to catch her eye. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know …”

“Do you have a better job offer?”

She did not.

“Somewhere to live once your lease runs out? Something lined up for the future? At all?”

She shook her head.

“How about if I promised that if you hated the job, if you found living in the Westerlands uncomfortable, whatever reason … I would not demand that you stayed against your will. I would provide transport back to the capital that very day.”

His eyes continued to bore into her. For a small man, Tyrion Lannister was an intense presence.

“I will never visit you, if that’s another thing that would concern you? No one must connect the farm to the Lannister family, I would not have anyone become suspicious.”

“Never?”

“Sapphire would grow in a place where her origins would matter little. A life free of stigma and shame is something we all want for our children, is it not?”

Brienne looked down at Sapphire, suckling contentedly.

“Let me provide that for her, that at least.”

Brienne swallowed. She looked up at Tyrion. Nodded, once. “Very well.”

His face broke out into a huge smile. “Thank you, Ser Brienne. Thank you. Take some time to recover, to adjust to motherhood. A moon, say? More, if you’d like. I will send Addam Marbrand to escort you to the farm once you are ready to take the position – he is a friend of the family and I trust his loyalty without question.”

Brienne nodded again. Not sure what to say.

Tyrion took a step towards the door as if he were about to leave but then turned back. “You’re not going to ask me, are you?”

“Ask you what?”

“What it is I smuggled out of the capital.”

“Would I need to know in order to guard it?”

A smile played on Tyrion’s lips. “Not right now, no.”

“Would I be tempted to betray you if I knew?”

Tyrion quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”

Brienne tried to bore into his eyes, trying to see if she could get some measure of his intentions, but of course, he was far too clever for that. She shrugged.

“Then it’s probably better if I don’t know.”

Tyrion burst out laughing. “Perhaps you have the makings of a sellsword after all.”


	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne rides west to Tyrion's mysterious farm with Ser Addam Marbrand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few content warnings here for some angst and rage and dealing with what Jaime did. I did say this wouldn't be an easy story and I'm sticking by that - I hope you all will too.
> 
> Once again dedicated with love to one of my favourite human beings, the sublime CaptainTarthister. Her endless enthusiasm for my wild what-ifs at god-knows-what o'clock in her part of the world are the best thing this fandom has to offer.

Tyrion sent a carriage for Brienne and Sapphire in the dead of night, warning her to tell no one she was leaving, not even Podrick.

Brienne misliked that; Pod had been a loyal squire to both of them, they could trust him to stay quiet about anything they asked him to. So she had stubbornly written him a note and wrapped it with a gift.

Oathkeeper.

Podrick was the worthy knight she had always hoped he would be, kind and steadfast and true. The kind of knight Brienne had herself aspired to be, at least before she had lain with a hateful man. Before she had become the Kingslayer’s Whore.

A sword such as Oathkeeper deserved a worthy wielder, a place in history. It should be here in the capital, protecting the King that Jaime had flung from a tower. That felt right; using it in the middle of nowhere to protect a Lannister’s dirty secret did not.

She placed the sword on Pod’s bed and spent a long time looking at it as it glittered in the candlelight – gold and rubies and lions and love. That’s what Oathkeeper had always meant to her – Jaime’s heart. Jaime’s honour. Jaime’s faith in her.

Lately, it had felt dead in her hand. Like it wasn’t hers any more. Like it was as dead to her as Jaime was.

She stared at Oathkeeper until Sapphire fussed in her arms, reminding her it was time to leave.

The carriage waited at her billet, Ser Addam Marbrand standing beside it impatiently. She recognised him at once, though he had cropped his copper hair and it was streaked with grey now. Perhaps all Westermen were alike, but there was something about him that reminded her of Jaime, his louche narrowed eyes and his thin smirk. Ser Addam was a loyal Lannister bannerman through and through and had been Jaime’s childhood friend, she knew.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said when he saw her.

Brienne shook her head.

“We should leave quickly. Lord Tyrion bade us be discreet, after all.”

“I need my bags,” she told him.

He raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t tell me I was to be your servant.”

Brienne sighed. “Very well. You can be my nursemaid instead.”

She thrust the fussing bundle that was Sapphire into his arms. Ser Addam grunted in surprise, fumbling and almost dropping the babe. Brienne gave him a withering look.

She went into her billet to pick up her bags – just two, one for her and one for Sapphire, that contained all they owned in this world. She had folded the Winterfell furs up too, intending to leave them for the billet’s next occupant – she had no need of them and they were still a little stained from Sapphire’s birth.

But … she had left Oathkeeper. She was not ready to let go of the furs just yet.

She pushed past Ser Addam with them bundled under one arm and stepped into the carriage. She stowed her bags and the furs on the overhead shelves before taking a seat.

“I trust you are taking your child alongside the skins of fifty direwolves?” he asked, holding a now-screaming Sapphire out to Brienne.

She held out her arms to receive her daughter and freed her breast from her tunic to offer the babe some comfort.

Ser Addam closed the door and rapped on the roof above his head before taking the seat opposite Brienne. She eyed him warily – he lounged back on the cushions and put his feet up on the seat with a yawn.

“Did you kill them yourself?” he asked.

“What?”

“The wolves … those are wolf pelts, are they not?”

“They were a gift – from my time serving in the North.”

The carriage set off at a smart pace, enough that Sapphire jerked from Brienne’s breast and let out a startled cry. Brienne rocked her and soothed her until she latched again.

“We stop at an inn tomorrow night,” he said. “Lord Tyrion has made us a booking somewhere on the Kingsroad. But we’re in here until then, both of us. He didn’t want to risk anyone seeing us near the capital. You are quite … distinctive.”

He settled back and closed his eyes, clearly intending to sleep.

“Do you guard this place too?” she asked, once his breathing had deepened enough that she knew he was almost asleep. “This farm?”

He cracked an irritable eye. “No. I’ll stay with you for one night. Then, _alas_ , I will be forced to leave you. I am to be married in a moon’s time.”

“My congratulations, ser.”

Ser Addam shrugged. “That remains to be seen. The match was made for me – some maid from the Stormlands. Uniting the kingdoms seems to be a top priority – they are making matches of anyone with even a hint of noble blood.”

Brienne nodded.

“I’m quite surprised you weren’t married off as well, my lady. An heir already baking in your belly and all.”

“ _Ser_ ,” Brienne corrected.

Marbrand’s eyebrows quirked again. “You truly use that? You truly style yourself as ‘Ser’?”

“I am an anointed knight! Why would I not?”’

He snorted. “Yes, but … not _truly_.”

“Not… truly?”

He made a face that made it clear he thought her deliberately obtuse. “You were only knighted by Jaime.”

“And Jaime doesn’t count?”

“You’re a woman, for the gods’ sakes! He might as well have knighted his horse; of course it doesn’t count.”

Brienne couldn’t breathe. Her face burned.

“Jaime always was a romantic fool – it certainly seems to have worked on _you_.” He nodded at Sapphire, asleep in her arms. “What did he do, tap his cock on your shoulders in place of his sword?”

He laughed uproariously at the thought while Brienne sputtered with rage.

“Spar with me, Ser,” she hissed. “When we stop at this inn. I will show you how much of a knight I truly am.”

Marbrand made a face of mock terror. Held up his hands. “Calm down! I believe you. _Ser_.”

“I was a Kingsguard!”

“That you were.”

“Lord Commander, too.”

“Yes. _Well done_.”

He lay back on the cushions again, pulling his hood down over his eyes. Brienne trembled with fury, suddenly wishing she had Oathkeeper after all or even the cheap sword she had stashed in her bags. Would Tyrion hold it against her if she gelded this man?

In a few short minutes, he was snoring loudly, which she had to admit was a marginal improvement over him talking.

She lay back a little on her own cushions and shut her eyes, cradling the sweet-smelling bundle that was Sapphire close to her chest. The babe was asleep now, sucking only sporadically, and it was a small matter to unlatch her and snuggle against her for sleep.

The rocking carriage lulled Brienne to a fitful sleep, to dreams of Jaime – Jaime’s smile, Jaime’s kiss, Jaime’s eyes holding her eyes as he stabbed Oathkeeper through her chest. She woke when Sapphire grew hungry again in the early hours.

Brienne peeked through the carriage’s blinds to see the first light of dawn filtering through trees that lined the road they travelled. Ser Addam was still curled away from her, seemingly undisturbed by Sapphire’s cries.

She freed her breast from her tunic once more and Sapphire latched on hungrily, her little hands in fists that kneaded impatiently for her milk. Brienne smiled tenderly down at her babe – how quickly this had become familiar. How much she loved her child with all her heart.

She looked up to see Ser Addam’s gaze on her – her face, her breast, her babe. His face was quite unreadable.

“Are you going to be doing that the whole time?” Ser Addam asked, his eyes not entirely on Brienne’s face.

“Only when she’s hungry.”

He grunted.

“If the sight of a woman’s breast offends you so, perhaps you should consider riding out there with your men after all?”

He muttered something and turned over to face the wall.

Once the sun was fully up, the carriage stopped in the woods for everyone to stretch their legs and make their water. Brienne took the opportunity to wash out Sapphire’s soiled napkins and hung them to dry like flags from the back of the carriage. The sight of them gave her some satisfaction – this was the new Lannister pennant now.

Ser Addam scowled at them and rolled his eyes but didn’t have any better ideas as to how she would get them dry.

The rest of the day’s travel passed in silence, except for when Sapphire decided to make her presence known. The journey seemed to be making her restless – she wanted to feed but then fussed when she did, she filled napkin after napkin, which made Ser Addam seem to despair.

By the time they arrived at the inn, Brienne was exhausted, and Sapphire was fractious. No amount of milk or cuddles or bouncing would settle her, and she cried loudly as the innkeep showed them to their rooms.

He handed Ser Addam a scroll as he left them, one that Brienne noticed bore a Lannister lion seal. The knight pulled it open and read it, his eyes going wide as he did. His face went quite pale. He looked at Brienne and down at the scroll again.

“Bad tidings?” she asked.

“None of your concern, Ser!” he spat, and disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Brienne sighed – at least he had called her Ser.

After that night, he didn’t travel with her in the carriage any more, choosing to ride instead with his men. Perhaps he’d had enough teats and baby shit for one journey.

With the carriage moving at the pace it was, they reached the Westerlands in just nine days and Tyrion’s mysterious Lannister farm in ten.

They arrived in the late evening, and Brienne was impressed to see the size of the place – a large main house sat beside servants’ quarters, stables, and a maester’s tower. The farmlands stretched out beyond the horizon, and the edge of the forest was to the east. The place had been surrounded (quite recently, it seemed) by a high wall. Brienne was pleased - whatever Tyrion had stolen from the capital, he was keen to see it protected. Her job was not made difficult.

The servants and farm workers greeted them with small dips – there were about a dozen of them. The maester came forward, a slight man in his forties with dark hair and eyes. His chain was long, for one who lived in the middle of nowhere, with several links that Brienne had never seen before. Tyrion, she realised, had paid this man handsomely for some purpose.

He greeted Ser Addam and then held a hand out to Brienne. “Maester Smallwood, my lady.” He introduced himself with a slight bow and then turned to the woman beside him, a plump peasant with protruding teeth. “This is Bancey; she will be your nursemaid and wet nurse to the young Lady Sapphire.”

“It’s just Sapphire,” Brienne said. “She’s no lady.”

“Of course, my apologies. Please, Bancey will show you to your chambers, I’ll have one of the boys bring your belongings. I will have soup and bread brought to you for supper, and anything else you require.”

“Thank you, maester.”

Brienne turned to show the boys her baggage and the Winterfell furs, and as she did, noticed that Ser Addam hopped nervously from foot to foot. Maester Smallwood nodded to him without a word, and they disappeared off somewhere together. Brienne watched them go with curious eyes.

“Follow me if you please, milady,” said Bancey smartly. Brienne obeyed.

Her rooms were in the main house, and seemed to be the master suite. They were well furnished, well-appointed, and twice the size of her whole billet back in King’s Landing, with a wide balcony and a separate study and a nursery for Sapphire.

Tyrion had furnished everything in rich crimson and gold velvets – a strange choice for someone who did not wish to draw attention to the fact this place belonged to the Lannisters. Perhaps he got a discount on anything in his House colours.

Brienne ate a hearty supper and took a steaming bath while Bancey got to know Sapphire, feeding her and rocking her to sleep in the large mahogany cradle that Brienne had dragged from the nursery to put beside her own bed. She and Sapphire had slept together for the whole of her babe’s little life – putting her all that distance away in a nursery felt wrong somehow.

It also felt strange to let another woman take charge of her daughter, but it felt good, too. It had been some weeks since Brienne had so much as found time to visit the privy in peace. A bath was unheard of.

After she was clean and dry, Brienne donned her armour in the study, another first since she had become a mother. She was pleasantly surprised to find it still fitted well, despite her loose belly and the milk-fat on her hips and thighs.

“I’m going to walk the perimeter,” she told Bancey from the doorway to her bedchamber. “I’d like to get a feel for security, see if anything new will need implementing.”

“Yes, milady,” Bancey said without looking up. “I’ll watch the lady Sapphire.”

Bancey and another handmaid were busy putting away Brienne and Sapphire’s belongings from her bags. Unfolding the furs on the bed.

“Bancey,” Brienne said. “I am an anointed knight, and thus I am properly addressed as ‘Ser’.”

Both Bancey and the handmaid looked up. They both gaped at Brienne with wide eyes. She didn’t look quite so mumsy in her armour.

“Many pardons, Ser,” said Bancey when she had recovered the power of speech. “I didn’t know.”

“That’s quite all right.” Brienne sheathed the sword she had bought from a blacksmith in King’s Landing and left her chambers.

Downstairs, another one brought up short was Ser Addam. He had a wineskin in his hand, headed for the guest quarters where he would be spending the night. He had to do a double-take when he saw Brienne.

A grin broke out on his face.

“Not looking for me, are you?” He waved the wineskin. “I’ve had too much of this to be much good in that spar you wanted.”

“No,” Brienne scowled. “I’m going to walk the perimeter.”

Marbrand scoffed. “Of course you are.”

She pushed past him without anything further and left the warmth of the farmhouse for the slush-covered courtyard outside.

She could see at once where Ser Addam had come from – an impromptu meal and party was happening in the servants’ quarters, with much singing and carousing. No one had invited her, of course. Some things never changed.

Brienne made her way towards the perimeter wall, already regretting not wearing a cloak or gloves. The wind was biting and icy, the farm very exposed with all the open fields surrounding it.

A foolish mistake – a year ago, she would never have dreamed of leaving her chamber without her cloak or gloves at Winterfell. She had gone soft living in the South for all those moons.

She trudged the line of the wall with numb feet, pleased to note it would be challenging to scale, certainly in winter. The gates were unguarded, though, and that seemed risky. Perhaps that was something she could implement herself, though. The farm boys looked strong enough – might be she could train them in the sword as she had with Podrick.

She had to swallow a lump in her throat as she thought of Pod. Maybe she would chance writing him a letter in a few years, tell him about Sapphire, let him know that they were at least alive and happy. She did not like the thought that she would never see him again.

Just as she got to the back end of the stables, checking to make sure the nearby tree wasn’t close enough to the wall to be a possible entry point, she heard something of a commotion.

“We need the maester!” A shout from the main buildings.

Brienne rounded the stables at a run to see what was going on.

A couple of young men, those who had been introduced to Brienne as farmhands, rushed out of the tower, still shouting for the maester. One of them held a flaming torch.

Then, Maester Smallwood came out from the servants’ quarters, from the party. He gathered his robes like a woman’s skirts and ran for the tower.

Brienne ran, too. Her sword in her hand.

She took the stairs two at a time, the boys and the maester already far above her; their frantic shouts echoed down the spiral stairway.

“Hold him!” she heard the maester cry. “Keep him pinned!”

At the top of the stairs, the door lay open, flung wide. The room beyond was small but well-appointed, a roaring fire in the hearth and a hearty supper laid on the table. There was a chair overturned, though, and a plate dashed to the floor.

Beside the table, the maester and three boys crouched over the body of a man who was twitching wildly. His limbs flailed, his muscles spasmed; he had lost control of his water, too – a dark stain blossomed in the front of his breeches.

“Hold him!” Maester Smallwood cried again. He sat astride the man’s chest. “I need to get this into his mouth before he bites his tongue off!”

Brienne stood in the doorway, frozen. Despite the perishing cold, she began to sweat beneath her armour. His legs … she knew his legs. The shape of his feet, too.

“No …”

Abruptly, the violent trembling stopped.

“There we go,” the maester sighed. “Not such a long one.”

“He’s cut his head, maester,” one of the boys said.

“I see that. Fetch me some water and a cloth and we’ll clean it.”

Smallwood stood up, brushing his robes down. It was then that he caught sight of Brienne in the doorway.

“My lady!”

But Brienne didn’t hear him. There was a ghost on the floor. A dead man.

Jaime …

Jaime, his hair long and his beard thick. Jaime, groaning on the floor with foam at the corners of his mouth. Jaime, an ugly scar on his face that ran right through his hair, a dent in his head and one of his ears torn off. Jaime with his left arm twisted and smashed, his left leg, too. Brienne noticed the cane that lay by his side. A walking cane …

But Jaime. Jaime. _Jaime_.

“No!” Brienne shrieked.

Jaime’s eyes flew open. Tried to focus on her. He tried to lift his head.

“Br – Brienne?” His voice slurred, his tongue slack in his mouth.

“No!” she screamed again and turned tail to run out of the tower. She fled down the steps, ran out of the door, across the courtyard. She crashed into the farmhouse in a huge clatter of armour and door. Upstairs, she heard Sapphire start to cry.

Addam Marbrand poked his head out of the guest quarters to find out what was amiss.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said.

“Take me back!” she screamed.

“What?”

“Now! Get the horses, get the carriage, get your men, you’re taking me back to King’s Landing.”

“Oh. You saw Jaime.”

“You knew? Of course you did! You’re a Lannister lapdog, of course you knew.”

“You’re right, I did.”

“Then why … what … You should have told me!”

“Lord Tyrion said not to.”

“Of course! You couldn’t tell me because you knew I’d want no part in it. Well, I don’t! What in the name of the gods made Tyrion think I would stay here?”

“He’s not giving you a choice.”

“What? He is. He told me I could change my mind if I wanted to, that I could come back if I wanted to. _I want to_!”

“Well, he lied. To me, as well. Come here.”

He pushed back into his room. Brienne followed, her heart pounding in her throat, her own breath burning her. Ser Addam thrust a scroll into her hands, the one he’d received back at the inn on that first night.

She unrolled it and read the contents.

_Ser Addam,_

_First, I must apologise for the subterfuge. You know I have valued your loyalty like no other during this difficult time. I value and appreciate each and every thing you have done for my brother and me. So I hope you will believe me when I say that this is not meant as a punishment, no matter how harsh it may at first seem._

_Your Stormlands bride … you travel with her. Potentially, at least. You see, I need my Lannister heir and I mean to have her, one way or another. Ser Brienne has a hard edge, but she is as soft as any maid when it comes to matters of the heart. She nursed my brother back to health before, defended him honourably and lost her heart and her maidenhead in the process. Call me a romantic, but I believe she will do it again._

_And if she will not stay … well, then she will marry you. I will name you Warden of the West and you will rule at Casterly Rock until the Lady Sapphire is of age. Any further children you manage to get on Ser Brienne will be given lands and titles befitting the sacrifice you have made for my family._

_Always your grateful friend,_

_Tyrion Lannister_

Brienne dropped the letter from nerveless fingers. Her head spun. “Surely … surely he cannot …”

“Of course he can! I mislike it as much as you, but he is Hand of the King. He can do whatever he wants.”

“I’ll run him through! ‘The sacrifice you have made’? The _sacrifice_! Is that what I am?”

No. That was not what Tyrion thought she was. His letter made it very clear what he truly expected her to be. She was to be the Kingslayer’s Whore once again, expected to forgive and forget, to be grateful that she was allowed a chance to fuck Jaime again. Even in his broken, twisted state.

“What about Cersei? Did _Cersei_ die?” she asked. “Truly?”

Ser Addam nodded. He seemed to be watching her face closely. “They were in the basement when the Red Keep collapsed. Tyrion found them – Jaime was barely alive, smashed to shit with a broken skull. Cersei was dead, her babe too, of course.”

Ser Addam had the gall to look sad.

“And you dragged Jaime here, on Tyrion’s orders? In defiance of your King?”

“I did. The Imp is a sly little shit, always has been. But Jaime … Jaime was like a brother to me, once. I could not see him die.”

He reached again for his wineskin, but found it empty and threw it to the bed in disgust.

“Tyrion paid the maester – a very good maester – a lot of coin to take care of him.”

“I saw him – upstairs in the tower. Jaime was shaking … on the floor. What …?”

“I don’t know. All I know is he did not wake up for the better part of three moons. He’s had to learn to walk again on his broken legs. He has those terrible fits, though and … he’s not right. Maester Smallwood says it’s the head injury. It may get better in time but he doesn’t know. ”

“Gods, we could all hang. All of us … everyone here. The King knows things … He can _see_ things.”

“The King needs to know what to look for. That’s what Tyrion said. He gave him no cause to suspect Jaime might still be alive.”

“We need to leave.”

Addam scoffed. “Oh, so you wish to be my bride, then?”

“No!”

“Then you’re staying. Protecting Jaime.”

“I will _not_. I am _done_ being a Lannister whore. Does Tyrion think I will forget what happened? That I am so desperate to be in Jaime’s bed that I would wed him even now … after everything he did?”

Marbrand looked as though he wanted to ask more, but thought better of it. “What will you do, then?”

“I will ride out of here. On the morrow, with my babe and my honour intact.”

“Don’t be foolish. Tyrion is Hand of the King. Do you think he could not find you if you fled? He will take that babe from you if you force him to – you know he will.”

Brienne’s hand went to the hilt of her sword. “Let him try.”

“He _will_. You think you could fight off a squadron of Lannister soldiers, do you? All by yourself?”

“I’d die trying.”

“That’s right; you _would_. You would die, and Tyrion would take Sapphire and she would be his heir and he would have what he wants. Your daughter would grow up without a mother, raised as a Lannister. Everything _you_ don’t want.”

“I could –“

“You could _what_?”

Brienne didn’t have an answer, or she couldn’t voice the one she _did_ have. She wanted to rampage around this place, kill everyone she saw – the farm boys and the maester and Bancey the wet nurse and Ser Addam fucking Marbrand too. Then she wanted to strangle Jaime with her bare hands. Slowly.

“Fuck you,” she said, and left Marbrand’s chamber.

Fuck all of this – she wasn’t even going to wait for the morrow. There were horses in the stables, who among them would be able to stop her taking one right now? Ser Addam was the only one who might have stood a chance, but he was quite drunk and not half so angry as she.

Sapphire seemed to have settled; she wasn’t crying any more but Brienne heard the squeak of the rocking cradle as she stomped up the stairs towards their chambers. She hadn’t fed her daughter for some hours now and her breasts were swollen painfully beneath her armour. Perhaps she should not have let the wet nurse take over so abruptly.

Her hand lifted to the catch on the door, but stopped. She couldn’t do it. How could she pick Sapphire up, sleeping, from her cradle and take her out into the night, on a horse, and ride off into she knew not what? She had no food to take and how could she hunt with a babe who might cry at any moment?

There was also the small matter of not knowing exactly where she was. All around them seemed to be wilderness – riding into it blindly in the middle of the night would be dangerous as all the hells. The fields were so exposed and there would be no shelter for miles. In the woods there could be wolves or bandits. If it were just her, she would have chanced it, but with Sapphire …

Sapphire.

She could have cried. She was trapped – utterly trapped. Trapped between a miserable marriage with a man she didn’t know and … and _Jaime_. Tyrion’s expectation that she would become Jaime’s whore again.

Well, he was wrong on that score. Tyrion Lannister knew nothing about Brienne of Tarth, that much was obvious. Even in Winterfell, how quickly he had been able to dismiss her as an ugly virgin and then a piece of meat he could dissect with his brother. Something he could poke fun at one night and then tug his manhood over the next.

That was when she decided. Tyrion’s lack of respect for her, his lack of regard for anything more than her ability to pleasure his brother and produce him an heir would be his undoing.

She turned on her heel and went back downstairs.

Rapped on the door to the guest chambers – Ser Addam answered; he looked utterly fed up to see her.

“What _now_?”

“Do you sleep with whores?”

“I – what?!”

“Whores – do you fuck whores?”

“Once or twice,” he said.

“Good.” She pushed him backwards into his room.

He stumbled, his eyes wide. “My lady! Ser …”

Oh, he was so much like Jaime. All mouth, and then when the moment was upon him, he was terrified. Wide-eyed and stammering.

Good. Brienne reached for the laces on his breeches.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking your trousers off.”

“Why?”

“Not because I want to marry you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That _did_ seem to relax him. “You – you just want …?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

He opened his mouth as if he were about to say more, but closed it abruptly. Was this how it had been for Jaime, that first night after the feast? This low thrum of desire, this need to fuck above all else? Had he felt then how she felt now?

She had thought he had come to her because he loved her, because he had always loved her, as she had him. But it had not been so.

Jaime had been gone from Cersei’s bed for over a moon at that point, and they had survived the dead. After battles, men’s blood ran hot. It must have been unbearable when Tyrion made him think about her maidenhead. When Tormund Giantsbane tried to stake his claim.

He must have felt like _this_.

She yanked at the buckles and laces on her armour, dropping it all to the floor. Opened her gambeson and shucked herself out of it. Ser Addam’s eyes went to the front of her tunic, widening further still. She was wet there, two spreading patches of milk leaking from her overfull breasts.

She almost stopped then, thinking of Sapphire asleep in her crib upstairs. But then Ser Addam came at her, not kissing her as Jaime had but going straight for her teats, straight beneath her tunic, mouth and hands.

“I’ve never lain with a woman with … _milk_ before.”

Brienne stood, swaying slightly, head flung back and eyes half-lidded in the candlelight as he suckled from her with a low, endless moan. His mouth felt soft without a beard to rasp on her breast and she thought of the way that he’d looked at her when she was feeding Sapphire in the carriage. Had he wanted her then? Did he want her now?

It didn’t matter.

He pulled her breeches off her hips and she cried out loudly as he pressed his mouth to her womanhood – the shock of his milky tongue on her engorged flesh made her shudder and clutch at his copper hair. Her nipples, throbbing with let-down, dripped milk on his shoulders.

He pushed her back onto his bed and pulled her breeches completely off before spreading her legs for his mouth once again.

He was not like Jaime – he didn’t do it like Jaime at all. Ser Addam pressed two fingers inside her and kept his tongue flickering on the sensitive part of her sex that Jaime had called her _clit_ the whole time. Jaime liked to worship at the altar of her womanhood, licking and sucking every part of her sex, dipping his tongue inside her, feasting on her for his own pleasure as well as hers.

This … this … _this_ was too much. Ser Addam was relentless, pushing her body for her pleasure, demanding it. Her clit was afire, a bolt of pleasure lancing up her spine to kick her in the base of her skull.

“I’m going to come,” she gasped.

“I know,” he told her around his own tongue.

A wild yell tore from her throat as she crashed into her release, fists grasping at the sheets and her hips lifting off the bed to thrust against his face. She remembered Tyrion telling her how he had heard her fucking Jaime from the corridors and the courtyards of Winterfell, remembered the shame she had felt that anyone had heard her in her pleasure.

Now she wanted to scream the place down so that everybody knew – the Kingslayer’s Whore was at it again.

Only she wasn’t Jaime’s whore now. She was Addam Marbrand’s whore. A whore all of her own.

She pulled Ser Addam onto the bed, swung a leg over him and mounted him, still half out of his breeches. He made a noise of protest, but it turned into a groan as she sank onto him and swallowed his cock with her cunt. He was bigger than Jaime, which made a laugh burst from her throat.

This was _nothing_ like fucking Jaime. There was no holding, no caressing. No gazing. No pretense at feelings – they hadn’t even kissed. Ser Addam sat up to suck the milk from her teats again and she wailed as a second climax shuddered through her.

He clung to her arse with both his hands – even that felt new and exciting. Fucking a man who had both his hands! She wanted to laugh again.

Fuck Jaime – why had she been grateful that he’d fucked her? Fucking was so easy; it meant so little. Why had she gone almost forty years without fucking? You could walk into any man’s room and make him fuck you, even when you were the ugliest woman alive.

He had her squashed against the headboard now, clinging to it, banging her arse against it with every thrust. He grunted and she grunted too, wild and out of control.

He dropped his forehead to her shoulder and his grip on the headboard got tighter, white-knuckled. The bunch of muscles in his belly grew tight and then tighter still and suddenly he yanked his cock from her body and spilt all over her thighs.

Jaime had never done that.

Ser Addam collapsed against Brienne like a soft doll, breath coming in harsh, ragged pants. His seed dripped from her skin, white and glistening in the candlelight. Why had Jaime never pulled his cock out before he’d climaxed? He had spent inside her every time they lay together.

Just when she thought she had been angry about everything that Jaime had ever done, there was something new.

If he had intended to go back to Cersei, why had he risked getting her with child so many times?

She pushed Ser Addam to one side and picked a handkerchief off his nightstand to wipe the seed from her legs. Pulled on her smallclothes, her breeches. Cleaned the milk from her belly and breasts.

Addam watched her with cautious eyes, his cock deflating a little at a time.

“I leave in the morning,” he said once she had pulled her gambeson back on.

Brienne already knew.

“And you?” he asked, when she didn’t answer.

“I’ll stay.”

He raised a thick eyebrow. “With Jaime?”

Brienne shook her head. “Fuck Jaime.”

“I think that was the idea.”

“I fucked you, instead.”

He chuckled. “That you did.”

“Lord Tyrion is wrong about me. I’ll do my duty; I’ll guard his secret. I’ll take the things he’s offered here, for Sapphire and for me. But not Jaime. I have more self-respect than that.”

Addam looked at her a long while, not taking his eyes off her once as she buckled her armour and strapped her sword to her hip.

“I believe you, Ser,” he said as she turned to leave.


	3. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne settles into life at the Lannister farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone for your wonderful comments on this fic so far. My kids have been ill this week so I haven't got around to replying to everyone yet, but hoping to catch up over the next few days.
> 
> Extra thanks as always to my precious bestie CaptainTarthister for being such an endless source of support, laughter and inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her this week for the amazing achievement she made. SO PROUD!

Ser Addam knocked on her door as soon as the sun came up. Brienne had heard the preparation of the carriage in the yard below, the saddling of the horses, the loading of bags. She had tried to ignore it as she lay in the dark quiet of her big, soft featherbed, cradling Sapphire as she suckled at her teat.

Then – the knock. It had made her jump. She hadn’t been expecting it – she had expected him to disappear before dawn and take their dirty little secret with him.

She opened her door with her shift open and her babe still at her breast. There was no need for modesty; he had seen it all before.

“I’m leaving soon,” he said. Eyes very determinedly on Brienne’s face.

She nodded, uncertain of what he wanted her to say. There was silence between them for a moment, punctuated only by the sound of Sapphire suckling.

“Here.” He held something out to her, a small package wrapped in paper. “I went to the maester this morning, to spare you any embarrassment.”

“What is it?”

“Moon Tea. I know I … but … you truly would have to wed me if I got you with child and … I know you don’t want that.”

Brienne almost laughed. She took the package.

He nodded and turned to leave, actually taking a couple of steps before turning back to her.

“About Jaime …” A flicker of something unreadable went across his face.

“What of him?”

“You should know, he mourns for Cersei still.”

Brienne flinched as though he’d slapped her. “Don’t worry, Ser, I won’t offend Ser Jaime by talking ill of his _beloved_ twin.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No? What did you mean? Am I to tiptoe around his poor, grieving heart?”

“I was more concerned with _yours.”_

“Mine?”

Ser Addam sighed and gave her an exasperated look. “I don’t know what happened between you and Jaime, other than he got a child on you. Frankly, I’m quite amazed _that_ happened. But … if there is any truth to what Tyrion wrote in that letter, if there was any hope you were harbouring in your heart that Jaime might be with you, you should know.”

“That’s _not_ why I’m staying.”

“Good. That’s good. Because I’ve been out here a _lot._ I was bringing supplies, recruiting people, helping to care for Jaime for months. We’ve had a lot of wine, a lot of late-night conversations over his sickbed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He cried over Cersei, cried over the child. Cried a lot for the state of his health. But he didn’t mention you to me. Not once.”

All the breath left Brienne’s body in a cold rush. It felt like a punch in the stomach – Jaime had been harder to get over than anything she could remember. Harder than Renly’s death, Lady Catelyn’s death, Lady Sansa’s dismissal of her after the North seceded the Seven Kingdoms. Even harder than being dragged into the dark woods by three men, their hands everywhere, thinking she would be raped and murdered.

She squeezed Sapphire against her, her knees weak, and her heart pounding.

It wasn’t that she wanted him back; it _wasn’t_. But Jaime … Jaime, the man who had given her every vestige of womanhood she had, in whose arms she had utterly flowered, finally, the man she had loved so hard it felt like a kind of madness … Jaime hadn’t even remembered her existence.

“It matters not,” she said, her voice stronger than it had any right to be. “What happened with Jaime is in the past. Lord Tyrion has things very wrong.”

Ser Addam nodded, the smallest vestige of a smile in the corners of his lips. “Yes, I thought as much.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. The silence dragged for just a moment too long. “Well, I had best be going. The carriage needs loading, and it is a long journey back to King’s Landing.”

“It is.”

He lingered a moment, as if he were going to say more, but then settled for “Farewell, Ser Brienne.”

“And you, Ser Addam.”

Brienne went back into her room and called for the handmaid. Sat at her table to shift Sapphire to the other breast while she waited.

The young woman from last night scurried in. She was a small, mouse-haired thing barely out of childhood, freckles across her nose.

“How may I help you, Ser?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Nira, Ser.”

“Nira. I have, uh … been given some tea.” She nodded at the package Ser Addam had given her, resting on the tabletop. “I’m not sure how to prepare it, could you perhaps fetch some hot water?”

“Of course. If I may?”

The handmaid didn’t wait for an answer, however. She picked up the package and opened it to smell the tea. Brienne felt her face flush.

Nira smiled. Her shoulders shook a little as if she were suppressing a giggle. “Don’t worry, Ser. I can help you with this. Discreetly, of course.”

Brienne swallowed, unable to meet the girl’s eyes. “My thanks, Nira.”

And so, a little while later, Brienne watched from her balcony as Ser Addam’s carriage prepared to depart, sipping her Moon Tea while Bancey bathed and dressed Sapphire.

Maester Smallwood was there, handing a bundle of letters and paperwork to Ser Addam, presumably for Tyrion. The farm boys finished loading the carriage, and finally, Ser Addam mounted his horse ready to set off.

He looked up at her balcony and held a hand up – a wave goodbye. Brienne nodded once and went inside.

After Brienne had finished her tea, Nira brought a second handmaid, a redhead named Alara, to help her into her armour. It was a frustrating process which took four times as long as it would have if Brienne had done it alone.

To say the girls were unfamiliar with how armour worked would be an understatement – Nira had tried to strap her pauldron to her thigh at one point and Brienne had to instruct them on how everything fitted together, how to lace and buckle it all, too.

Another insult of Tyrion’s. She didn’t need handmaids; she needed a squire.

Eventually, she made it out of the house to do another reconnoitre of the wall, walking the last section she had missed when the shouting about Jaime began last night, and seeing if there was anything she had missed in the dark. There was nothing new, but the farm boys had left the gates open after Ser Addam’s departure, which was a severe breach of security.

She closed the gates and went to find them.

There were six farm boys, their ages ranging from late teens to mid-twenties, and she found them all hiding out in a barn over on a field far out from the house. Only two of them were working – a dark-haired youth who had his shirt off to rake hay and a redhead who was moving crates. The rest lay around, laughing and passing a wineskin between them, even though the sun was barely up.

The boy with his shirt off stopped what he was doing as soon as he saw Brienne — leaned on his rake. Two of the others stood up – she recognised them both as the boys who had been helping Maester Smallwood with Jaime last night in the tower.

“Milady.”

“Ser,” she corrected with a sigh. This grew tiresome.

None of the boys said anything.

“I’d like to ask for your help, if I may.”

“What with?”

“I have been charged with guarding this place. Keeping security tight so that word does not get out about what we keep here.”

“ _Who_ , you mean,” said the redhead. He put his crates down.

“Yes. I’m sure you agree it’s in all our interests to keep that to ourselves.”

Again, the boys said nothing.

“But it’s too big a job for one knight. I’m hoping that I might recruit some of you. All of you, if you wish. I’ll train you to fight, source weapons for you, run drills and exercises to keep this place tight. We can set up guard duties, sentry duties …”

“No, thanks,” said the shirtless boy.

“No?”

“No,” said one of the boys from the tower.

“May I ask why?”

The redhead leaned on his crates. “If we learn to fight, then we’re soldiers, aren’t we.”

“Well …”

“Soldiers get killed. Next time some lord decides they want to be king or queen, all the fighting men have to go and die for them.”

The shirtless boy nodded. “Like my father and all three of my brothers. All loyal Lannister soldiers. All dead. Fighting wolves and then roses and then a big fucking dragon.”

The other boys all nodded.

Brienne lifted her chin. “Don’t you want to have the skills to defend yourselves? Defend your families?”

Redhead shrugged. “Skills don’t make a difference. They want to burn your town; they burn it. Anyone who tries to stop them dies. I fled here from the Riverlands – I know what it’s like. When they come, you run. You run, or you die.”

“Exactly,” said shirtless. “The King finds out about Old Limpy-Lion up in the tower, he’s going to send more men than we can hope to defend against. Knights and horses and archers and all sorts. We wouldn’t have a hope in all the hells. What’s the point?”

_Honour_ , Brienne wanted to say. The point was honour.

She sighed. “Suit yourselves.”

She turned to leave, but then turned back. “You can find me some wood, then, instead.”

“Wood?” asked the redhead.

“Planks. I see there’s another barn out there, the one without a roof. No one’s using that for anything; dismantle it for me.”

“The whole thing?”

Brienne shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I want to make a lookout in the tree over the stables. I, for one would like to know if the King sends knights and horses and archers our way. Maybe I can buy you all some time to oh-so-bravely run away.”

She stared at them all. No one moved.

“Now.”

Shirtless dropped his rake and picked up his shirt, and insolent look on his face that he wasn’t yet prepared to follow through on. The two boys from the tower moved past him with their heads down, and left the barn, as did redhead. The two others corked the wineskin and followed sheepishly.

“Bring the wood to the stables,” she told them.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Brienne stopped work – she’d stripped off her armour to climb the tree and cut some of the bigger branches back, then managed to fix a decent row of planks in place to make a flat platform above the line of the outer wall.

She sweated despite the cold, and underneath her gambeson, her breasts were swollen painfully and leaking once again. She would have to take a break to get Sapphire to relieve her soon. She nailed the last plank in place and wiped the sweat from her brow. Shouted down to the farm boys that she was done.

They all turned tail left at once without a word, not one of them offering to help her get down, to carry the tools or clear the as-yet unused planks away.

So Brienne did all of it herself. Jumped from the tree to the stable roof, slid down and lowered herself to the ground. Carried the planks that the farm boys had dragged down here between two of them and stashed them in the corner of the stables. Returned the tools to the storage shed by the servants’ quarters.

It was when she went back to the tree to collect her armour that she saw him.

There. By the base of the tower. Watching her.

Jaime.

He was wrapped in a thick cloak, leaning heavily on his cane; he had that same look on his face as always when he watched her, that dumb, terrified look with his eyes wide and his mouth open.

She hefted her armour over her shoulder and marched for the farmhouse.

In her chambers, Nira was laying the table for supper, even though Brienne had missed the midday meal.

“I’ll need a bath after supper,” Brienne told her. “And find Bancey, I need to feed Sapphire with some urgency.”

“Of course, Ser.”

She had not fed since the sun came up that morning and her breasts were hot and taut and her tunic was wet in the front. After Nira had left the room, Brienne went to the washbowl on the dresser and wet a cloth with the cold water. Undid her gambeson and slipped the cloth inside her tunic, to cool her breasts down a little with the water.

Suddenly, outside the room, there was an awful crash and clatter. Brienne went for her sword, flung open the door.

On the floor, cursing and trying to pull himself up with his cane was Jaime. His feet slipped from under him again on the polished wood; he tried to catch himself with his stump and cracked it painfully on the floor. He fell hard to his knees.

“Fuck,” he cursed. Finally got to his feet. “Fucking stick.”

“Go back to your tower,” Brienne said.

“No,” he replied.

“I have nothing to say to you, Jaime.”

“What, are you just going to avoid me forever?”

“Yes.”

That seemed to take him by surprise. “That’s a little … childish, is it not?”

“I thought you dead. Where’s the difference?”

“I thought _you_ were a Kingsguard.”

She scoffed.

“But here you are.”

“Thanks to your brother. He seems to get some perverse satisfaction out of pushing us together.”

“He didn’t tell me. He didn’t ask me.”

“Nor I. What do you want, Jaime?”

“I had hoped to clear the air.”

Brienne sighed. She closed her eyes. “I don’t _want_ –“

“I’m sorry. I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“What I did … It was the wrong thing to do, and I’ve regretted it ever since. Massively.”

“What? _What_?”

“It was …”

She cut him off. “It was the wrong thing to do? You tried to leave while I slept! Left me crying, looking a fool in front of everyone I defended you from. Got yourself captured and _still_ went to save your sister. And now she’s dead, you _regret_ it? What – you wish we were still in Winterfell? Still making love by the fireplace and snuggling under the furs? Now all you have left is your second choice … _now_ you think leaving was wrong?”

He looked at her in abject confusion. “No … I regret that I bedded you, Brienne. It was less than honourable, to take a noblewoman’s maidenhead after a battle. I treated you like a whore to sate my battle-lust, and it was unforgivable.”

“Your _battle-lust_? It wasn’t some one-night tumble; we were together for a month!”

He looked down. “I regret that, too. It was wrong, knowing I still had duties at home.”

“You asked Lady Sansa if you could stay with me.”

“I shouldn’t have done that. I was confused. Being with you confused me.”

“I – I _confused_ you?”

“You … you have no idea, do you? You _haunted_ me, Brienne. For years. Everywhere I went, you were there. Riverrun, the Dragonpit … even when we went to Dorne, we passed right by Tarth. You were in my head, twenty times a day, wondering what you were doing, if you were all right – safe and well and _happy_. I rode south thinking of nothing but _you_. Forgetting that Cersei was alone, forgetting that she had my child in her belly. That the Dragon Queen planned to kill them both.”

Brienne was dumbstruck. Hand white-knuckled on the hilt of her sword.

“And when I saw you … Gods, I was _lost_. I wanted nothing more than to die with honour at your side. Do you see? You have this power over me, over my good reason, over my better judgement. You’re like an addiction and … and it cost me _so much_. If I’d gone … right after the battle. If I’d gone a month earlier, I could have saved them.”

“You could have …”

“Cersei and my child. I could have got them out. We could be in Pentos. Right now, if weren’t for you. If it weren’t for my weakness.”

Brienne groaned like a wounded animal. Held up her hand as if she could somehow ward his words off. “Go. Go back to your tower.”

“I just wanted to –“

“No. I don’t want to hear any more. Go! Leave me.”

“Brienne …”

Just then, Nira returned, Bancey in tow. They came up the stairs, carrying Brienne’s dinner and baby Sapphire between them, who was crying loudly. Jaime did a double-take.

“My Lord.” Both curtseyed before him. Jaime’s eyes were huge, his mouth open. Nira went into the chambers with her dinner. Bancey stopped at the door with the fractious Sapphire.

“She had a feed around midday last, Ser,” said Bancey. She placed the squalling Sapphire in Brienne’s arms and took her sword from her hand. “She’s slept most of the afternoon so I’d say she’ll be hungry.”

“Thank you, Bancey. I’ll give her this feed.”

“Of course, Ser. I thought you might need to.”

“Brienne?” Jaime was gaping like a fish now.

Brienne ignored him.

“Whose is that baby? Is that yours? Is that why you’re not a Kingsguard?”

He didn’t know? Tyrion hadn’t told him, nor Ser Addam?

“Brienne!” He poked her with his cane. Actually poked her!

She rounded on him. “Why do you care? What business is it of yours? You’ve said your piece, you’ve made your apology, horrendous though it was. Now go!”

She pulled Bancey into her chambers and slammed the door in his face. Bolted it.

“Brienne!” he yelled through the door. “Whose baby is that?”

He banged on the door with his cane.

“Is that my baby? Did I get you with child?”

She sat at the table, even as the banging continued. Put the screaming Sapphire to her breast. Her face burned with shame. Nira and Bancey said nothing. Served her dinner as if nothing was amiss, even as Jaime shouted and hit the door.

“Brienne! Answer me!”

She did not. Ate her dinner through a choked throat, holding Sapphire with shaking arms.

He gave up when Nira placed her dessert in front of her, stewed plums in thick custard. She heard him curse as he slipped again and fell partway down the stairs. Hating herself for that part of her that still wanted to go to him, to see if he was all right.

She heard his hobbling footsteps and the clack of his cane as he left the farmhouse, fancied she could hear the crunch of the snow beneath his feet as he walked away. Away from her, _again_.

“Are you all right, Ser?” Nira asked after a moment.

It was the worst thing the handmaid could have said; Brienne broke down and the tears came hard. She couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop herself from sobbing, loudly and openly.

“Oh, Ser …” Bancey and Nira went to her, folding her in their arms even as she sat at the table, so she was sandwiched between the two of them. It felt faintly ridiculous, but it felt good, too. No one had comforted her about Jaime; everyone had tripped over themselves to tell her they had seen it coming, that she had been foolish to see anything good in him in the first place.

Podrick had tried, but … he was her squire. She hadn’t wanted him to see how badly Jaime had stabbed her through the heart.

Bancey held her face in her big, warm hands. Brushed the tears from her cheeks with her thumbs. “He’s not worth your tears, Ser,” she said.

“No, he’s not,” Nira agreed. “None of them are.”

“He was,” Brienne said. “I really thought he was.”

Being in love with Jaime had been the most beautiful experience of her life and she knew she would never have that again with anyone. Even the intimacy of kissing him, his tongue sliding against her tongue, his breath in her mouth, his hand in her hair … it was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her body had _craved_ it, ached for him, ached to be naked pressed against him, ached for that feeling of him inside her. There had never been anything like it ever in her life.

Between them all, Sapphire let out a loud belch, quite sated on the milk from Brienne's overloaded breasts.

The three women laughed and Nira fetched a washcloth to wipe Brienne's face of tears.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne said. Truly, she had never intended to break down that way.

“Don’t be sorry. Let’s get you that bath, Ser,” Bancey said softly.

“Thank you.”

It was a strange thing – Brienne could never have broken down that way in front of a squire, certainly not without losing his respect or at least feeling as though she had. But handmaids … she felt as though they had shared something, that they were close now.

Perhaps Tyrion had accidentally made the right decision after all.

Bancey and Nira fetched her bath and filled it, and Brienne stripped Sapphire down and took her into the warm water with her, cradling her against her chest as she splashed her little toes.

“She’s smiling at you, Ser,” Nira said as she added another bucket of hot water to the bath.

“Isn’t that just wind?”

“No, she’s plenty old enough to be smiling at her mother,” said Bancey.

“Oh …”

Brienne smiled back at her beautiful daughter, washing her soft blonde hair with the palm of her hand. Caressing the plump of her cheek and booping her cute little nose.

Sapphire made the most adorable squeal, and her smile grew even wider. Brienne thought her heart would burst.

“She doesn’t look like him, does she?” she asked the two women — the first time she had voiced that fear out loud.

“Oh, _no_ ,” said Nira at once. “Not at all. She’s your very double, Ser.”

“Poor child,” Brienne laughed. “Let’s hope she’s not quite so tall and ungainly.”

“Ungainly? Oh there’s plenty worse, don’t worry about that, Ser. You wouldn't have wanted her to have _his_ nose, would you?” Bancey laughed.

“That’s true,” Brienne replied with a sly grin.

It was very dark outside by the time Brienne had finished her bath. Nira and Alara helped her into her armour once again so that she might do a patrol of the wall, a little surer this time, a little faster. Nothing was amiss, and all seemed quiet around the farm, too.

She inspected her handiwork at the tree by the stables – a good start, she thought. Tomorrow she would add a roof and half walls to shelter her from the elements. It felt good to be doing something physical again, though her muscles ached from it already. It felt good to have a purpose, even if ultimately it was just defending Jaime.

It started to snow as she finished her patrol and she trudged back across the courtyard to the farmhouse, quite looking forward to a night in that big feather bed with Sapphire cuddled against her.

Jaime was there – he watched her from the top window of the maester’s tower, thin and forlorn and looking lost. She ignored him and went indoors.

Her chambers were warm and softly lit with candles. Sapphire was fast asleep, the bed turned down and Brienne’s sleeping shift laid out for her.

Nira and Alara helped her with her cloak and then started on her armour. Brienne helped them to remember where the buckles and laces were, but noticed the two of them were somewhat distracted. They kept glancing at each other, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to speak.

“What is it?” Brienne asked after the fifth such glance.

“Nothing, Ser,” said Nira at once.

Alara shot her daggers.

“Please,” Brienne said. “Speak freely.”

“I heard you spoke to the farm boys about training them?” Alara said.

“Oh, Yes, I did.”

“How did you mean? Did you mean like squires and knights and that?” Nira asked.

Brienne nodded.

“They weren’t interested, though, were they.” Alara stopped in the process of unbuckling her pauldron.

Brienne swallowed. “No.”

“Well, do they have to be boys?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Squires and knights and that. Do they have to be boys, or could you perhaps train girls?”

“I’m the only female knight, so far as I know.”

Nira stepped around from where she had been trying to find the fastening to her swordbelt. “What Alara’s trying to say is that it’s started some talk. In the servants’ quarters, in the kitchens … we’ve all seen you out there today, building your treehouse, in your armour and carrying your sword. Looking all … ”

“That’s right,” Alara interrupted. “And um … it started us thinking. Would you train _us_ , maybe? Us and some of the kitchen girls? And possibly Bancey too? We’d all like to try.”

Brienne blinked. “Truly?”

“Yes, Ser. We thought that maybe the lady knight would like to have some lady squires? If it please you.”

“Don’t you have duties? Jobs?”

“No more than the boys, Ser.”

Brienne considered it. “I suppose we could meet in groups, whatever would suit everyone.”

“We could, Ser!”

Brienne looked at the two of them, at their eager eyes and hopeful faces. “All right,” she nodded. “I would be glad of your help.”

“Thank you, Ser. You won’t regret it.”

“We’ll start tomorrow. After breakfast, for whoever is free. And again in the afternoon?”

“Yes, thank you. We’ll ask about and see who is free and when.”

“Very well.”

They removed the rest of her armour excitably and she dismissed them, eager as they were to tell their friends and get things started.

She stared at the door for a long time after they had gone, considering. An interesting development, she thought.

She slid into bed and stared up at the canopy for a long time before falling asleep.


	4. The Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks later, Brienne and Jaime are trying to negotiate their space.

Over the past three weeks, Brienne’s group of female squires had grown by quite a few. She now had a squad of twelve, kitchen girls and serving maids and even a girl who worked in a tavern at a nearby town.

Tyrion would mislike that, she suspected. An outsider who came to the farm every day, someone who might see and recognise Jaime, spread word of him in a tavern.

Jaime, though, had not been out of his tower much, at least not when Brienne could see him. A week back, she thought she heard his voice in the courtyard while she ate her dinner with Sapphire at her breast. And the past couple of days during her afternoon training session, there had sometimes been a shadow at the tower’s top window. A shadow she doubted was the maester.

Brienne had ignored him every time.

It was easier to ignore him now, with the shock of his presence not quite so fresh. Brienne’s days were far from empty with patrols to organise, the women to drill and train and of course, Sapphire.

Bancey was swinging an iron poker at Nira, so Brienne had Sapphire strapped to her chest, like women who worked in fields sometimes did with their babes.

Sapphire slept peacefully, lulled by her mother’s heartbeat and the nearness of her breast. Brienne walked between the lines of training women with a smile on her face, correcting postures, shouting encouragement, occasionally demonstrating a stance or a swing or a block.

The women were of differing physical ability, some strong and some weak, some lithe and some brawny – just like men. Already, Brienne saw where she might utilise their strengths if it came to defending the farm, who she might put in place as leaders, who would be best served on guard or lookout duty, too.

The problem, of course, would be arming and armouring them. There was no blacksmith at the farm, and Brienne did not have the resources at her disposal to have things made elsewhere. The women trained with sticks, pokers and kitchen tools while wearing their tunics and dresses; Brienne hoped she could think of a solution before it became a necessity.

Jaime watched her again. There was a figure at the window, slightly hunched and long-haired. He stood back in the shadows where he didn’t think she could see him, but Brienne knew the shape of him anywhere.

No doubt if he were down here, he would tell her she was doing it wrong, that her training methods were sloppy or that they wouldn’t work in battle. Perhaps he would have been right, too. But these weren’t her squires, not in truth, and it wasn’t battle she prepared them for.

What she wanted was to teach them to fight like women.

That was what Ser Goodwin had done for her, taught her to use her sex to her advantage in combat to defeat a man. That was what she needed to pass on to these women; this is what they would face if the King’s men came for them. Massacre and rape.

What did Jaime know of that? What could he teach them – save for shouting “Sapphires!” at the top of his voice? When bad men came for him, his wealth had been no shield. Nor would it be again.

Brienne trained the women until Sapphire woke, letting her presence known in loud wails. Bancey offered to take her inside, but the portly little woman was doing so well and looked to be enjoying herself so much that Brienne shook her head.

Instead, she unlaced her gambeson and perched on the fence by the stables to feed her daughter herself, still shouting instructions and encouragement to the training women.

Sapphire suckled contentedly, looking up at Brienne with the most brilliant blue eyes she had ever seen. Her daughter might have inherited her unfortunate looks, but she had beautiful eyes.

Her smile too – it never failed to make Brienne melt. Sapphire pulled off her nipple to give her mother a brilliant smile and the sweetest giggle. Brienne snuggled her close and kissed her plump little cheek.

Held her up above her head in the sunshine to make her laugh. Kissed her belly, blew raspberries on both her cheeks. Sapphire squirmed and shrieked with sweet baby giggles.

The weather was good, so Brienne let the women drill until the light began to fade, promising they could resume when their duties permitted, which was usually after breakfast and then a second group after the midday meal.

Flushed from the exercise, laughing and japing, the women went their separate ways to all parts of the estate.

Bancey, Nira and Alara returned to the farmhouse with Brienne. The two handmaids wasted no time in removing her armour – they had become quite adept at it now – and took it to be cleaned. Becoming familiar with cleaning and maintaining armour and weapons was a new part of their duties, one they were also good at. Lowborn women, it seemed, were much better at scrubbing things than highborn men.

Bancey took Sapphire for an evening bath, to feed and to settle her to sleep. Brienne ate her meal and then bathed herself, thinking to turn in for an early night.

She slipped her sleeping shift over her head and went to turn the covers back.

There, on her pillow, was a note.

She hadn’t seen it before, but it must have been there since she had returned to her chambers. It was folded and not rolled – immediately, she knew who had left it.

Her fingers shook as she unfolded it – tempted to throw it into the fire unread. Knowing she would wish she had.

The writing inside was like a child’s, shaky and unformed, the letters smudged and slanting.

It wasn’t signed, and he hadn’t written her name at the top, either. He’d just launched into what he wanted to say.

_I’ve stayed away. I did what you wanted._

The top line read.

_I don’t care what you do with your training and all the serving girls, but I can’t handle the babe. Please. Please._

_Don’t bring the babe outside._

Brienne felt sick. Then she did throw the note in the fire, watched it crumple and burn just as she had with her father’s last scroll, the one that had named her Kingslayer’s Whore. That hadn’t made her feel any better, either.

She pulled on some breeches under her nightshift, shoved her feet in her boots. She marched out of her chambers without bothering to lace either.

She tore out of the farmhouse, across the yard. Yanked the door to the tower open, which wasn’t even locked. She would have to address that particular security risk with Maester Smallwood.

The tower was quiet – no sounds at all came from the upstairs room where Jaime lived. Brienne stomped up the stairs two at a time.

One of the farm boys stood outside the chamber door, the one with red hair. He had the good grace to look terrified when he saw Brienne.

“Is he in there?” she barked.

He nodded. “But, my lady –”

“It’s _Ser_!” she screamed at him and threw open the door.

Jaime was in the bath. More than that – he had a washcloth over his face, and his hand was on his erect cock beneath the water.

“Fuck!” he shouted and tore the washcloth off his eyes to cover himself. “Did you perhaps not think of knocking?”

Brienne’s eyes narrowed with fury. “’Don’t bring the babe outside’?”

“Brienne –"

“No! ‘Don’t bring the babe outside’? What am I to do? Leave her locked in her nursery for the rest of her life?”

“I didn’t mean that. Calm down.”

“No? What did you mean, then?”

“Might I perhaps have a moment to –”

“No!”

“I’m naked!”

“Suddenly the blushing maid? I’ve seen your cock a time or two, or did you forget? That’s how we managed to make a babe for you to complain about.”

Jaime scowled. “So she is mine, then?”

“You think me a whore? All but forty years to find a man who will bed me and you think there were others the next night?”

“Tormund Giantsbane would have –”

“Oh, fuck off. I’m not your sister – I hear she had a merry time with Euron Greyjoy the moment you rode away.”

A look of pure, murderous rage crossed Jaime’s face – Brienne thought for a moment that he might hit her. If he could have limped close enough to do it.

“You’re pathetic,” she told him.

His eyes blazed and the ugly scar on his face went scarlet. There he was – that hateful man he had told her about — the Lannister. How could she ever have thought him beautiful?

“I have dreams,” he said. His voice was far softer than Brienne had thought it would be. The snarl on his lips faded and back came the thin, broken shell of a man. “That’s why – I have dreams most nights of a baby crying — my child. Crying and I can’t get to him in piles of rubble.”

“Your child?”

“The one that died with Cersei, in her belly. The one she – she _begged_ me to save as we realised there was no escape. You can’t know how that haunts me.”

“You –“

“Hearing yours cry outside in the yard – it’s driving me quite mad. I can’t stand it. Please.”

“Mine? She – she’s no less your child than –“

“ _Please_. I can’t stand it. The trauma of it brings on my fits.”

Mad. Jaime had quite lost his wits, she realised. He truly had.

“I lost everything – everything I had ever lived for. And Tyrion decides to torment me this way. With _you_.”

“Then tell him you wish me to go. Write to him; send a raven. Tell him to let me leave.”

He scoffed. “I am a dead man – I am not allowed to write letters. And there are no ravens here – only the maester may communicate with Tyrion and only through Addam Marbrand when he deigns to come.”

“Tell the maester! Tell him to tell Tyrion.”

“I already did. Three weeks ago, when I saw you first. Smallwood would not even contemplate it. We are both stuck in this hell.”

Brienne closed her eyes. Felt her throat get tight. “Your brother thinks we will fall in love. I saw his letter to Ser Addam. He believes we will fall in love and marry – that he can make Sapphire the heir to House Lannister.”

“Love? What does Tyrion know of love?” He gave a bitter laugh which cut off in the middle. His eyes narrowed. “Sapphire? Is that her name?”

Brienne sighed. “Does it matter?”

Jaime didn’t answer. He looked sadly at his scarred, twisted legs beneath the bathwater; his cock had long since gone limp.

“I won’t leave her indoors,” Brienne told him. “She will grow soon enough, be a walking, talking girl who will wish to play in the sunshine. I would not shut her away because of _you_.”

He had the good grace to look ashamed at that.

“You will have to live with her presence. I promise you; my life has been far more impacted than yours.”

He looked up, his head tilted to one side and his eyes narrow. He looked so much the same as he had in the bath at Harrenhal that for a moment, he stole Brienne’s breath.

“Will you tell her I am her father?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Oh.”

“I will tell her that her father died in the war. That he was a good man, and I couldn’t save him.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Then he sat up in the bath and reached for his towel.

“Help me get out?” he asked. He was holding out a hand to Brienne.

“No!”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, be that way. Ask Mykah to come in. Mykal? I forget his name. The boy outside the door.”

Brienne flung the door open and the lad jumped. “He wants to get out of the bath,” she said.

The boy nodded and scurried to Jaime.

Jaime took his arm, grunting in pain as he pulled him to his feet.

Water sluiced down Jaime’s scarred form as he painstakingly lifted his leg over the side of the tub, beading in his chest hair and dripping from the end of his cock. Brienne felt like she should look away, but – why should she? 

He was half the man he used to be, she thought. He had lost so much weight and all of his muscle mass. She remembered how he had felt on top of her beneath the furs of her bed in Winterfell. Heavy. Strong, for all that he was smaller than she. His quick, leonine power had been present in every muscle of his body. Now it was gone.

Now, he looked scrawny. Wasted. All ribs and hipbones and even his arse – the arse that had made Brienne’s heart beat faster when she saw him in tight breeches – looked hollow and empty.

He leaned on the boy with the stump of his right arm as he dried himself with his left. His face contorted in pain. He was gasping with it by the time he sat on the bed to dress.

“Where’s Smallwood?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know, my Lord,” said the boy.

“Find him. I need my milk of the poppy.”

“He – he said I wasn’t to leave you, my Lord. In case you had a fit.”

“Ser Brienne is here, is she not?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Then go!”

The boy turned tail and all but ran from the room. Jaime lay back on the pillows of his bed, his eyes closed, shuddering with pain. Brienne stood by the door in silence, not sure what good she was meant to be. If Jaime had a fit now, she wouldn’t know what to do in any case; probably he would die.

“Does it give you pleasure to see me like this?”

Brienne blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “It gives me no pleasure to see you at all.”

“Oh, you wished me dead, did you?”

She sighed. “Again, I’m not your sister. You need not fear Bronn turning up with a loaded crossbow.”

“That was –”

“We both know what that was. It’s just you who chooses to make excuses.”

“I –”

“Yes, I know. You love her. You’d do anything for her. Murder people, maim children, all those other glorious romantic things. You covered that.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Brienne, I _am_.”

“How can I believe that? You’d do it again if your sister were still alive, do you deny that? You’d murder me with your own hands; push Sapphire from a tower window – for Cersei. There’s nothing you wouldn’t have done ‘just to get back to Cersei’ – you made that abundantly clear.”

“I didn’t mean you.”

“Yes, you did.”

He was silent; his hand gripped the sheet now, fingers white.

“Brienne –”

“Just _stop_.”

Mercifully, Maester Smallwood came up the stairs just then with a stoppered vial in his hands.

“Baths are supposed to relax you,” he admonished when he saw the state of Jaime.

“I was interrupted,” Jaime said. “Do you have the fucking poppymilk or not?”

“I do.”

The maester poured a glass of wine and added a couple of drops from his vial to it. Jaime watched him with hungry, desperate eyes.

“I’m going to need more than dreamwine.”

“We’ll see how you go,” the maester replied.

“I’m telling you now – I need more than dreamwine!”

But he snatched it from the maester’s hand and gulped it desperately, spilling it into his beard and onto the sheets.

“It’s not enough,” he said when he had drained the glass.

“You know milk of the poppy makes your fits more frequent. A little is better.”

“And you know I don’t care!”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself, my Lord,” Smallwood said gently. “You know that’s not why I’m here.”

Jaime just groaned. He rolled his head fitfully on the pillows. “I know why you’re here. Same reason she is.” He gestured at Brienne with his stump.

Smallwood looked Brienne up and down, taking in her state of undress. “I highly doubt that, my Lord.”

Jaime laughed – his eyes were huge now, the pupils as big as saucers. He had a stupid grin on his face. “I knighted her, you know,” he slurred.

“Is that so?” Smallwood answered gently. He massaged Jaime’s legs now, trying to ease the cramped muscles.

“Yesss …” said Jaime. “And then I took her maidenhead too.”

The maester’s jaw clenched. He looked away. “That’s – that’s a private matter, wouldn’t you say, my Lord?”

“Don’t worry,” Jaime said. His voice was little more than a sleepy drawl now. “She already knows what a dishonourable bastard I am.”

He was curled on his side now, his long hair flopped over his face, his arms wrapped about himself.

“But I love her,” he purred into the pillow as his eyes drooped. “I tell myself it’s just obsession but I love her.”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

His eyelids got heavier and heavier and his head lolled. Then, just as she thought he was asleep, he lifted his head and opened his eyes again to look at her.

“Remember when I ate your cunt in the stables at Winterfell?”

Brienne fled; her face burned. She ran down the stairs and slammed the tower door behind her. Stomped through the mud in the courtyard and went back to the farmhouse.

Her chambers were still empty; Bancey had taken to settling Sapphire in her own room to allow Brienne extra time to patrol in the evenings. She usually brought the babe back when She woke for her first night feed.

Brienne undressed, kicking off her boots and pulling off her breeches and slinging them to a chair. She sat on the edge of the bed, her face still burning.

Gods, but she hated Jaime. Hated him with a passion, hated him as she had never hated anyone before in her life. She was so angry with him. So betrayed.

She _did_ remember when he had eaten her cunt in the stables at Winterfell.

It was their third time together — the day after the feast.

Their first time had been quite drunken and it was rushed and desperate, so she barely remembered it. She only remembered the stinging pain of Jaime taking her maidenhead, of him not going slowly when she’d asked him to. His awkward eyes not being able to meet hers after he’d squirted his seed half a dozen thrusts later. He hadn’t left, but nor did he hold her. Spoken to her only monosyllabically so, in the end, she’d just fallen asleep.

The next morning hadn’t gone much better – Jaime had put his hand on her breast when she was sleeping and she’d woken with a start, quite forgetting he was there. Ready to fight whoever was assaulting her. It had taken several kisses before her heart had stopped pounding. The sex hadn’t been much better than it was the night before. Full of passion, but over very quickly.

She was new at this, she had reasoned and so was Jaime in a way. They were both inexperienced, didn’t know each other’s bodies yet. And probably, when Jaime lay with Cersei, he’d always had to do so quickly, for fear of discovery. It didn’t matter.

She’d loved him, even then. It had been enough to hold him.

She’d reported for duty an hour later, and everyone had known. There had been looks and whispers, filled with the word “Kingslayer”. All eyes had been on her, some wondering what she saw in Jaime but most wondering what he saw in _her_.

She hadn’t cared. Jaime’s kisses had been so ardent, so intense. Her head was filled with memories of his hand on her naked body, his sighs of pleasure, how he had shuddered and groaned during his climax — brought to pleasure by _her_ body. By being _inside her_.

Brienne of Tarth had made Jaime Lannister come. She’d worn _that_ thought like a secret smile all day.

It had been so exciting, so wonderful, that it didn’t even matter that he hadn’t made _her_ come. It hadn’t even been a thought.

She and Pod had taken a team outside the castle to check on the nearby town. They had been gone for several hours and when they had returned, Jaime had been waiting for her. In the stables.

Podrick had made himself scarce as quick as he could and as soon as they were alone, Jaime had kissed her.

It had felt strange kissing him outside of her chambers, when they were both fully-clothed, when they were Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne. He was up on his tiptoes, his arms around her armour, his beard rough on her chin.

“Come on,” he had whispered, and she had thought he would take her back into the castle, back to her bed.

Instead, he’d pushed her into an empty stall, kissing away her protests and warning her to be quiet because there were people everywhere. He’d taken off her breastplate but left her pauldrons. Stripped off her breeches and smallclothes but slapped her hands away when she’d tried to do his.

He’d pushed her down into the hay and parted her gambeson and then her legs.

Brienne could remember feeling uncomfortable, horrendously exposed. They had been naked together of course, but it had been at night and in the early morning beneath furs. And he hadn’t looked … not _directly_ … not like _this_. She was sweaty from riding, and still wet with his seed and –

Jaime hadn’t hesitated. He kissed her legs and her belly first, looked up at her with that handsome grin that had always made her melt, and he’d kissed her _there._ She’d squirmed a little and huffed out a mortified breath, expecting him to move on to the next leg and then put his cock in her.

Instead, something wet and warm had pushed insistently through her pubic hair and into the most intimate part of her. Brienne had sat up with a crunch of armour and a scandalised gasp.

“What are you doing?!”

He’d lifted his head and waggled his tongue at her. His beard had been shiny and wet. “I owe you a climax,” he husked. “Two, if we’re counting.”

“And you’re … like _that_?”

“I’m going to lick your clit until you come.”

“My – my what?”

He’d pressed a finger against her, against the sensitive part of her cunt that she rubbed against things to make herself come. “That. It’s called your clit.”

“It is?”

He’d shrugged. “My brother reads all sorts of shit from the Citadel. Usually bores me rigid but there was this study they had done on women’s anatomy, for the bedchamber. I think it was intended as a guide for a bridegroom on his wedding night – there were _very_ detailed diagrams.”

Brienne had looked at him sceptically.

“You’ll see,” he’d told her.

And she _had_ seen. For all the way she wanted to cringe that he had his face buried in her sex, it had turned out that the learned men of the Citadel were quite right – a tongue was an incredible instrument to use on a woman’s anatomy. He’d had her writhing in the hay, legs wrapped around his head and both hands grasping his hair.

She had never known pleasure like it – it had turned her inside out, warped her mind and made her forget who and what she was. When Jaime had finally lifted his mouth away and wiped his beard on her cloak three climaxes later, it had left her spent and shaken, barely able to speak.

She had lost her maidenhead the night before, but it was that afternoon in the stables that she had finally understood how much she wanted to be the Kingslayer’s whore.

Even now, sitting on her bed in the farmhouse, the memory aroused her. She tried to banish it, tried to think of Renly or Ser Addam or anyone other than Jaime. He didn’t deserve any part of her, not even her private pleasure.

But it was no good – there was another memory – too fresh, of Jaime caressing his cock beneath the bathwater when she had burst into the tower unawares. She didn’t want that to arouse her, but it did. How could you hate someone so much and still want them?

Perhaps it was safer this way. Now, he could arouse her without hurting her, without letting her believe she was loved. She could take something safe from what they had together – in her head, she could use him as _her_ whore.

She climbed into bed and rolled onto her belly, pulling one of the pillows down and holding it between her legs so she could rub against it. She rocked her hips, biting her lip to suppress a groan at the surge of pleasure that hit her immediately.

Jaime …

Her hips sped up.

Gods, but he had been so _beautiful_. Every woman in the world wanted him, and he had gone to bed with _her_. Brienne the Beauty.

She was gasping now, a flood of warmth in her face and her toes curling. Hands twisting the sheets.

He’d kissed her, held her, got hard for her. Put his mouth between her legs, every time after the time in the stables. His golden hair in her hands, his beard chafing her thighs, his tongue on her clit making her hot and wet and –

Brienne cried out, far too loudly for the silence of the farmhouse, hips convulsing against the pillow as she came. Collapsed face down, panting and trembling and flooded with warmth.

After a moment, she rolled onto her back, readjusted her sleeping shift and wiped the sweat from her upper lip. She expected to feel disgusted with herself, dirty somehow for using Jaime as her fantasy, but she didn’t.

Was she not, after all, the Kingslayer’s whore? Being with Jaime had eclipsed everything good and noble that she’d ever done with her life. The least she should get in return was a climax.

Brienne reached down to the end of the bed and pulled the furs from her Winterfell bed up and over her, wanting to remember. Wanting to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, apologies to everyone who has written me a comment and I haven't got to replying yet. I've had loads for this story and I've got seriously behind. Hoping to catch up this week.
> 
> Also massive thanks to my wonderful CaptainTarthister for the immense job of nerves-settling she did over this chapter. She's been a treasure.
> 
> Finally, if you're interested in getting updates and teasers from this fic, please follow my Twitter @StupidLannister and my Tumblr @catherineflowers29.
> 
> Thank you, hope you liked this chapter, it's been a pain in my arse!


	5. The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The farm gets a visitor.

Another moon passed at the farm. Brienne finished her lookout in the tree over the stables, Sapphire turned four moons old, learned to roll over to her belly and grew two crooked little bottom teeth that were just about the most adorable thing Brienne had ever seen.

She had been nervous about feeding once her babe grew teeth, but Bancey had guffawed when she had brought it up.

“Don’t worry about that, Ser,” she had said. “I’ve nursed seventeen babes, my own included. Her teeth won’t touch your teats unless she’s bored or not hungry and decides to break her latch. You’ll see.”

And she had been quite right – there was not a hint of difference from when her daughter had fed with just gums.

Now Brienne and Bancey sat in the lookout, watching over the road and the surrounding fields. Bancey had her sewing with her, so she wasn't the most diligent of watchmen, but Brienne didn’t mind. The wet nurse was sewing some padded armour for the women on gate duty, planning to make a set for everyone in Brienne’s squad eventually.

Sapphire lay contented in Brienne’s arms, waving a rattle and periodically chewing on it. With her teeth coming in, she had been quite fractious of late and had slept poorly, so it was good to see her in better spirits.

The sun was shining, all was quiet, and Brienne hadn’t spoken to Jaime in weeks. Things were better. Sometimes she could forget why she was here.

Sapphire got bored with the rattle and dropped it four times in succession before starting to cry and mouth at her fist.

“Hungry again?” Brienne asked her.

Bancey gave her a rueful grin. “She’s a big girl, Ser.”

“Like her mother.” Brienne undid her gambeson and offered her teat to her babe, who latched on hungrily.

“Are all your family tall, Ser?”

Brienne almost flinched – she wasn’t used to being questioned about her size unless it was the precursor to some jibe. But Bancey was just making conversation, she knew. There wasn’t a cruel bone in her body.

“Yes,” she answered. “All the women on my father’s side are tall, but I am the tallest.”

Most of them had worn their height with a lot more grace, she thought. More like elegant swans than Brienne the aurochs.

Then she squinted. Strained to listen over the sounds of Sapphire’s eager gulping.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Bancey. “Horses?”

Bancey shook her head. “No, Ser.” She wrinkled her brow, trying to hear.

Brienne stood up to get a better view. At her breast, Sapphire unlatched and turned her head to look, too. She didn’t like to be left out.

It took a moment, but there they were. Coming out of the forest, four horses drawing a carriage. A familiar carriage.

“What is it?” asked Bancey, squinting. Her eyesight really wasn’t good enough for lookout duty, Brienne decided.

“Ser Addam Marbrand,” said Brienne.

She laced her gambeson and clambered down from the lookout with Sapphire over her shoulder. Bancey followed, stepping on her skirt every other rung of the ladder. Brienne called for Nira to take over the watch.

“Open the gates!” Brienne called to the two girls on gate duty – a kitchen maid and the tavern wench from whatever town was nearby.

They saluted and went to work unbarring them, which was heavy work even for the two of them. The gates swung open wide, and after a few moments, the carriage approached.

Ser Addam rode alongside the carriage, armed and armoured, but with his helmet off so the wind caught in his thick copper hair.

He drew his horse to a stop and dismounted, offering a broad smile to Brienne. “Ser Brienne,” he said with a bow.

She kept her expression neutral, her back straight. “Ser Addam.”

He looked about him with a bemused expression on his face, seeing the two gate guards, Nira up in the lookout and the women sparring in the yard.

“Oh dear, have you slaughtered all the men and taken the farm for yourself? Perhaps I should be calling you ‘Your Grace’?”

Brienne flushed. “I have taken on some recruits,” she explained.

“Most fearsome. I should hate to be on the business end of one of those broom handles.”

Let him mock, she thought. One of Ser Goodwin’s most dependable lessons had been that men will always underestimate a woman in combat. She had found it to be a huge advantage.

Just then, Maester Smallwood came hurrying out of the tower, holding his robes up from the mud in the yard.

“My Lord!” he exclaimed. “My apologies, I was –”

“Is Ser Jaime well?” asked Ser Addam.

“Another fit. But he’s recovering now.”

“Good. I’ll come and greet him.”

He moved to follow the maester but then seemed to change his mind. Turned half back to Brienne.

“It is good – I mean, I am pleased – I … You look _well_ , Ser Brienne.”

Brienne’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Thank you, Ser Addam.”

He turned again and followed the maester to Jaime’s tower. Brienne felt Bancey’s eyes on her, and Nira’s too, from the lookout. She ignored them.

Brienne did not see Ser Addam again until well past sundown, after she had eaten her evening meal and Nira and Alara had helped her into her armour for her nighttime patrol around the walls.

He was in the courtyard, at his parked carriage, removing a crate of ale from inside.

“Ser Brienne!” he called, even as she headed toward the gate.

“Good evening, Ser Addam,” she replied.

“Addam,” he said.

She blinked.

“Please. I think we know each other well enough to dispense with the formalities.”

She wasn’t sure that was true, but she nodded nonetheless. “Then you should call me Brienne, too.”

“All right. We’re having a drink. Brienne.” He held up the crate to show her. “Would you like to join us?”

She remembered the party they had held in the servants’ quarters on the night that she arrived. The night she saw Jaime was here. Perhaps it was something they did every time Addam arrived.

“I can’t drink,” she told him. “It gets to Sapphire, through the milk.”

“Oh.” His eyes dropped, briefly, to her breasts, even though they were well concealed beneath her breastplate. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Well, I’m sure I can find you some water?”

Brienne hesitated. It would be the maester and the farm boys, the men from Addam’s entourage. No one she knew well — no one who was particularly kind to her.

But perhaps she could change that? The men of Winterfell had been suspicious of her at first, too. They had ostracised her, laughed at her. Until they had seen her fight. Until they got used to seeing her at Lady Sansa’s side. And Addam did seem keen to see her attend.

“Very well,” she told him. “But only briefly. Then I must do my patrol.”

“Of course.”

He hefted the crate under one arm and led her to the servants’ quarters, holding the door open for her and then putting his hand on her back as she stepped past him. She looked at him, but his eyes were unreadable.

“Just through here,” he said.

But he didn’t lead her into the common area, where she had thought the parties were probably held. Instead, he ushered her through into a small back room off the kitchens. There were a few chairs and a small wooden table where the remnants of dinner sat on wooden plates.

At the other side of the table sat Jaime.

“No!” said Brienne and Jaime at the same time. Jaime groped for his stick; Brienne backed towards the door.

Addam sighed. “How in all the hells did the two of you make a baby?”

Brienne glared at him, betrayed.

“Addam, we have an arrangement,” Jaime complained. “We stay away from each other.”

“Well I need you to change that, just for an hour or so,” Addam said. “Tyrion expects a report from me on how things are going between the two of you and I have little clue as to what the situation is in the first place. So I need some explanations, from both of you. Something I can use to fob Lord Tyrion off and buy us a little time so that none of us ends up in an arranged marriage.”

He held a chair out for Brienne.

She looked at it. Looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Oh, sit down,” Jaime told her.

“Fuck you, Jaime,” she said. But sat down anyway.

“Thank you,” Addam said with a bow of his head. He pulled the lid off the crate and pulled out a couple of stoppered clay jugs. “Ale anyone?”

Jaime grunted and beckoned for one, so Addam slid a jug across the table. Brienne refused; apparently, he had forgotten his promise to find her some water.

Addam ripped the cork from his jug and then did Jaime’s too. Jaime picked it up, shaking between his broken arm and his stumped one, struggling to lift it to his mouth and then to angle it to drink. His hand shook with the effort, and he spilt a significant portion down his front.

“I have a question.” He looked at Brienne with narrowed eyes and a wet beard. Up and down. “Where’s Oathkeeper?”

Addam interrupted before she could answer. “What’s Oathkeeper?”

“It’s a sword. A magnificent, ornate Valyrian steel sword my father had made for me, I would guess before he knew I’d lost my hand. I gave it to Brienne so that I might keep my oath to Catelyn Stark.” He didn’t take his eyes off Brienne as he spoke. “I haven’t seen you with it once since you arrived. Did you sell it to keep yourself in firewood?”

“It’s with an honourable man,” Brienne said. “Keeping oaths of the Kingsguard, where a sword like that _should_ be.”

“Who?” Jaime asked. “Which knight?”

“Podrick Payne.”

Jaime swallowed. “You gave a Valyrian steel sword to your squire?”

“He’s no squire; he’s an anointed knight of the Kingsguard!”

“Slim pickings after a decade of war, I suppose,” said to Jaime to Addam. Addam nodded in agreement. “But still … Oathkeeper …”

“Where’s Widow’s Wail?”

He grimaced. “Daenerys Targaryen took it from me – it’s no doubt adorning the belt of some mad Dothraki now. Halfway around the world.”

Brienne looked away. Another thing lost to them with nary a whimper; their twin swords that had once felt to Brienne so much like destiny.

“There,” said Addam. “An all but civil conversation. It can be done.”

He sat down and kicked out the chair opposite to put his feet up.

“Tyrion wants a report?” Brienne asked him. “What on?”

Addam swallowed his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Plainly stated, he wants to know if the two of you have fucked yet. I take it that’s a no?”

“Obviously it’s a no,” said Jaime with a glare. He took another clumsy, jerking swig of his ale.

The corners of Addam’s mouth twitched upward. Just a bit. He looked down at the tabletop. “Why do you hate each other so much?”

“What?” Jaime spluttered.

“This one is just for me. Call it curiosity. You were together, enough to have a baby. What went wrong?”

“The baby wasn’t _deliberate_ ,” Jaime said.

“You should have pulled out,” Brienne snapped at him.

“You should have drunk Moon Tea. I thought you were.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

“I thought – I thought …”

“You thought _what_?”

“You took my maidenhead. Asked Sansa if you could stay with me. I thought we were getting married. That if I were with child, you would be happy about it.”

She felt stupid saying it; like a naïve girl. She fully expected Jaime and Addam to laugh at her.

Neither did. Jaime shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Addam drank his ale.

“I should have left earlier,” Jaime said. “After the battle. I could have snuck away while they counted the dead. You would have thought me on that pyre somewhere.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I could have gone home. Been there – been with them, talked Cersei into surrendering the city.”

“Like you talked her into joining the fight against the dead? Are you truly so lackwit to believe you could have done that?”

“Cersei –”

“No!” Brienne shouted, louder than she had intended. “I don’t want to hear you say her name!”

“I don’t expect you to understand –”

“Your sister destroyed you! Broke you utterly, body and mind, and _still,_ you ran back to her the moment she was in trouble. You almost died with her. Because of her. Still, you defend her. Still, you talk about her as though she were your world.”

Jaime turned away. “She –” But he couldn’t complete the sentence. His eyes brimmed with tears.

“No. You’re not who I thought you were.”

Jaime drank of his ale and then half-dropped it back to the tabletop. “I gave you what I could,” he said, so low she could barely hear him.

“What?”

“I hurt you. I regret that. But I gave you happiness, too — a moon of it. Good memories, plentiful sex. A child you love, bastard though she is. Can you not think of it that way?”

“You expect gratitude?”

Jaime shrugged. “I didn’t expect to be alive.”

“Of course not. You expected to die with Cersei and never have to worry about it.”

“No. Before that. I came North because …” It took him a moment to find his next words. “I wanted to die. I thought it my last chance to do it with honour, and it was.”

Brienne swallowed. “You - you wanted to die?”

“Perhaps I did. I thought I _would_. To die saving Westeros from the Army of the Dead seemed like the sort of death I dreamed about as a boy. Something that might redeem even the Kingslayer. I had made my peace with that on the road to Winterfell. I was ready.”

He looked into his jug of ale. Brienne couldn't breathe, and Addam seemed to have shrunk back into the shadows.

“Curse the Stark girl and her ridiculous feat.” He gave a dark, throaty chuckle. “How was I supposed to build a life I didn’t know I’d have and didn’t much want?”

“Jaime –”

“I tried, Brienne. I _tried_. You had everything of me I was capable of giving.”

His eyes were horrors. Swirling pits of madness, full of hate and despair and torment. Just like they had been the night he’d ridden away from Winterfell. The night he’d had his hand cut off. She stared into them, felt them sucking her in, pulling at her in that same way he always had.

Jaime …

“No. I can’t do this.” Brienne stood up, towering over the table, tearing her eyes away from that terrible gaze. It burned her black, right to her bones. She couldn’t be that person any more. “I have to patrol the walls.”

She didn’t want to. She couldn’t think of much worse than walking that same circuit around that freezing, muddy courtyard. She wanted to go to her bed, get Sapphire from Bancey’s room and hold her tight beneath the furs. Absorb all the love she could from her sweet little body, kiss every tiny finger and breathe the scent of her soft golden hair. Take what was good and right and _hers_.

At least she got out of the servants quarters before she began to cry. Miserably. Desperately, so hard and she couldn’t stop.

She cried all around the walls as she walked the perimeter. Truly it was the most ineffective patrol she had ever done – had a team of bandits decided to jump into the farm right in front of her she couldn’t have seen them for the tears.

By the time she gave up and trudged towards the farmhouse, her face felt tight and chapped where her tears had frozen on her cheeks and her throat ached like it would never stop.

She dragged herself up the stairs and into her room. Stood before the roaring fire to pull her armour off piece by piece. She dropped it onto the chair and turned around to unlace her gambeson.

She jumped and let out a startled yell. Addam was there, sitting on her bed.

“You looked like you wouldn't want to be alone,” he said.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at him, open-mouthed.

He had a jug of his ale in one of his hands and he held it out to Brienne. “You also looked like you could use some of this, nursing be damned.”

“Thank you,” she said eventually. Her hands started working at her laces again and she shrugged out of the gambeson. Addam’s eyes went to the press of her breasts against the tunic underneath. She wasn’t wet – her milk had long since regulated itself enough that she didn’t leak on her clothes all the time.

She sat beside him on the bed and accepted the jug of ale from him. Drank from it, just a little.

“My father’s recipe,” he told her.

“It’s good.” In truth, it was like all ale – a bitter, unpleasant means to an end. Brienne drank more. Took the jug from her lips to see he was staring at her.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Brienne stared at him. Wiped her mouth of ale and then leaned in to kiss _him_. His lips were soft; they fuller than Jaime’s, and his tongue was not so desperate or insistent. Instead, he flickered it gently against her own tongue, meltingly soft. Pressed and retreated, then did it again. The breath from his nose was warm on her cheek.

She cupped his face in both her hands and the kiss deepened. His arms slid around her back.

“I’ve thought of you a lot,” he said.

Brienne kissed him some more. She didn’t want him to talk. Her hands slid from his face down to his chest and pulled at the ties on his tunic.

His skin was warm and his torso was well-covered with hair, from his collarbone right down to the waistband of his breeches. It was a darker shade of copper than the hair on his head. She hadn’t noticed before – hadn’t paid a lot of attention to how he looked. That night she’d just wanted to fuck.

Brienne ran her fingers through it – it was coarse but soft. The thought of it rubbing against her nipples while they fucked sent a rush of desire from her belly to her cunt. She pushed the tunic off his shoulders – they were covered in hair too, as was his back.

With his shirt off, Addam pressed her down to the bed, still kissing. Pushed between her thighs and thrust against her through their clothes in a gentle mimicry of sex. She got her hand between them to grasp his cock through his breeches, and he moaned.

She caressed his shaft for some time as they kissed and he didn’t have to stop her once. That had been the frustration with Jaime – the constant stop-start to avoid him coming too soon. But Addam had control and experience. He fucked like a master.

He opened her tunic part way and twisted his head to suckle her milk from her, his cock swelling to further hardness as he did. Now it was Brienne's turn to moan, letting go of his cock to grasp his arse and rub her clit against his hardness.

He sat up, beads of her milk on the stubble of his chin, and reached over to his jacket to pull a package from the pocket. “I got this from a maester in King’s Landing,” he told her. He tore the package open and held up a piece of linen roughly the length of his hand.

“What is it?” Brienne asked.

He grinned. “It’s like a scabbard for your cock. If you wear it during sex, it stops a babe being made.”

“How?”

“It catches the seed. Stops it getting in the woman’s belly. Do you want to try it?”

Brienne furrowed her brow. It might be uncomfortable for both of them, being ploughed by a bundle of linen as opposed to a smooth, warm cock. And she was sceptical it would stop his seed – it came from a man with such force she thought it might just spray right through the linen.

She took the cock- scabbard from him and turned it over in her hands, seeing that it was a little like a sock and also that it had been dipped in something – perhaps wax? Something that put a sheen on it and rendered it both waterproof and smoother than she had first feared.

“Very well,” she shrugged.

He grinned and tugged at the laces on his breeches. He wasn’t wearing smallclothes. Brienne stood to take hers off too and he licked his lips when he saw her cunt. He leaned over to reach for the cock-scabbard.

“Wait,” she said.

He stopped.

She went to her knees by the side of the bed and pushed his thighs apart. Dipped her head and took his cock in her mouth.

His flesh was hot and inflamed and tasted like salt and sweat and lust. Addam let out a pleasured cry and shuddered beneath her. She swirled her tongue and his hands threaded into her hair as his hips gave short, shallow thrusts.

He mumbled “Good” and “Yes” over and over. Brienne felt good, too; she could literally taste his desire. There was power in being a whore.

She pulled away and passed him the piece of linen without a word. He slipped it over his cock and tied the ribbon at the base of his shaft that would keep it secure. Brienne almost laughed – the thing looked vaguely amusing, almost like one of the little bonnets Bancey had made for Sapphire.

Addam pushed himself back and held out his hands for Brienne, helping her onto the bed and astride him. He leaned up to kiss her as she sank down onto his cock with a grunt. The linen felt different but not uncomfortable, she decided. His cock still rubbed her in all the right places.

He went straight for her nipples again, not shy about how much he loved her milk. He groaned and hummed and ground his cock inside her while he sucked. His arms were about her tight, their bellies hard together.

Brienne tipped her head back on her shoulders with a decadent sigh. She watched the bed canopy rocking, the tasselled red-and-gold curtains swaying in the rhythm of their fucking. Let the feelings build, listened to herself grunt and groan and pant.

Addam’s lips were on her neck now, his breath hot and moist. They were both sweating – the fire in the grate seemed to lick at her, heating her skin everywhere that Addam’s hands touched her. The world grew dim and hazy, fell behind her closed eyelids and the harsh sound of their breathing.

Her thighs trembled, her toes curled, her fingers ran through the hair on his back.

“I’m going to come,” she told him. She abruptly realised she always did that during sex – she always announced her pleasure before it happened and she knew not why. It almost made her laugh and then the laughter burst out of her mouth as a loud wail.

Her pleasure seemed to inspire his – his thrusts lost their rhythm and degenerated into frantic jerks. He dropped his sweat-soaked forehead to her shoulder, his eyes screwed tightly shut and mouth open in a silent groan. She held him close.

When his trembling ceased, he looked up at her with happy, exhausted eyes and pressed his lips to hers for a kiss.

He looked like he might thank her, but he didn’t say a thing.

They shifted apart, Addam holding onto the linen to keep it in place as he pulled his cock from her body.

“I’m not sure about this thing,” he said, peering into it with an expression of distaste. “It seems as though there’s a lot to clean up. And it was a little like fucking a wet cloth instead of you.”

Brienne laughed. It was certainly a lot cleaner for _her_. “What do you do with it now? Do you wash it and use it again?”

Addam nodded, peering at the thing with an expression of distaste. A man’s seed, Brienne decided, was something that was only appealing in the heat of the moment. As soon as the passion faded, it was no more desirable than any other bodily excretion.

“May I?” he asked, pointing to the jug of wash-water that Nira had left on the dresser that morning.

“Help yourself.”

He took it into the privy with him – Brienne pulled her sleeping shift on and splashed the sweat from her face over her washbowl. She heard a curse and then Addam returned with a furrowed brow. He put the jug back on the dresser.

“Dropped the fucking thing down the privy,” he growled.

“Oh. Do you want to –”

“Forget it. I’ll spend on your belly next time.”

Brienne lifted an eyebrow.

“That is, if I pleased you enough to have me again, Ser.”

She laughed. “It’s a possibility.”

She expected Addam to dress and leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he climbed back into bed wearing nought but his skin, rearranging and slapping her pillows into shape behind his head.

“Ser –”

“Addam,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Did I not just poke a considerable amount of wax-coated linen inside you? I think you can use my name.”

“Addam,” she continued. “Do you not think it better if we are discreet?”

“We are in the middle of nowhere, behind a high, well-guarded wall. I don’t think it gets much more discreet than this.”

“There are close to forty people here.”

“Servants!”

He didn’t care what servants thought, she realised. Didn’t count them as people.

“Unless it’s Jaime you’re worried about?”

“No!” Brienne protested. “Does he know?”

“I haven’t told him.”

Silence hung between them for another moment.

“Get into bed,” he said. “Fuck discretion, I want to sleep beside you.”

She chewed her lip. “I want that too.”

He held up the blankets for her. Looked at her expectantly.

She nodded but threw some more wood on the fire and blew the candles out before she indulged him. He drew her close as soon as she got into bed, tucked his knees into the back of hers and curled an arm over her ribs so that his hand was on her breasts.

He sighed contentedly.

Brienne fidgeted, adjusting her shift, moving her hair. She wasn’t used to being held like this – aside from Sapphire, she’d slept alone her whole adult life. Jaime had been a poor sleeper at Winterfell. He’d usually risen after bedding her, or lain awake while she had slept.

What he had done, she hadn’t known. Thought about Cersei, most likely. Felt guilty. Wished he was dead.

Brienne clenched her jaw at the thought. Both her fists. She hadn’t known.

She’d thought him happy. She’d thought she was making him happy. That he could finally live his life, be the man he was inside. Have the life he wanted, live for love, have children and marriage and _home_.

She’d thought of taking Jaime home to her father, showing him Tarth, all the things that were beautiful in her world. She’d imagined him loving them too, gazing out at the sapphire waters, walking through rockpools barefoot, hand-in-hand. Growing old with him.

But he didn’t want things growing on him. That’s what he’d said, moments before he’d kissed her for the first time — moments before he’d taken her, roughly and desperately on top of her furs. He’d said that and she’d thought he was making a joke, being sardonic.

She hadn’t heard him, hadn’t wanted to hear what he was truly saying because she’d just wanted him to love her.

The last time, too. The night he left. Brienne didn’t think on it much because it hurt, but she remembered how Jaime had looked while he was fucking her – the sweet longing in his eyes and the way his brow creased as if he were savouring every kiss. And she’d savoured every kiss too, let each one open her heart, let herself believe this was what she deserved. And she’d held him tight as he’d filled her with his seed, thinking it meant he wanted her, wanted to make babies, wanted a future.

But it was quite the opposite; Jaime wanted to die. He made every kiss count because they would be his last.

Brienne had been so obsessed with her desire to be loved that she hadn’t noticed.

Behind her, Addam began to snore. Brienne only dozed, at least until she was woken in the early hours by Bancey bringing her a hungry Sapphire.

The wet nurse looked at Addam in Brienne’s bed but made no comment save a little smile. Brienne smiled back and took her babe, settling her by her side and freeing her breast from her shift to feed her.

Addam snuffled as the door shut and pulled Brienne close again. He muttered something and kissed her neck. She looked down into the beautiful face of her child, her wide blue eyes and the curve of her suckling cheek in the moonlight.

She imagined what this might feel like if it were Jaime in bed with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story ... idk. It's making me crazy. I have no clue any more I really don't - I'm along for the ride too.
> 
> Please direct all applause to the ever-beautiful CaptainTarthister. She's the only thing keeping me from madness right now!
> 
> If you would like to get teasers and updates on this story as I write it, then please follow my Twitter @StupidLannister. Come and say hi, I like to chat!


	6. Halfway Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

Brienne woke up to the sound of her own moans.

She’d been dreaming – a wondrous dream of slick, warm flesh against hers, touching her in all the right places, making her wetter than she’d ever been before.

She woke up, and it was not a dream at all.

She was sideways on the bed; her nightshift pushed up to her armpits and a head full of copper hair between her thighs. Addam hummed like she was the most delicious way to break his fast in all the Seven Kingdoms. Brienne splayed her legs and grasped his hair, trying to quiet herself.

It was all but impossible; he had her right on the panting edge, right at that part where her toes curled and every word out of her mouth was either “Gods” or “Fuck”. How had she not woken up?

Addam added his fingers to the mix; two curled inside her pressing until she didn’t know whether she would come or release her bladder into his mouth. She wagered he wouldn’t like that so much as her milk.

His tongue was relentless on her clit, demanding a climax of her _now_. She did not disappoint.

“Oh, fuck, I’m going to –"

She curled her legs around Addam’s shoulders, her toes in the hair on his back. Clapped both her hands over her mouth and wailed into them as he took her crashing over the edge. She arched up against his mouth so hard that it was only her shoulders in contact with the bed. Then she collapsed back to the mattress, panting wildly.

He lifted his head to rest his chin on the thick curls that covered her sex. Grinned at her with his wet lips shining.

“Good morning.”

Brienne just managed a whimper.

He pulled himself to his feet, totally naked and obscenely erect, and crossed the room to wash his face and hands in her washbowl.

“Where’s Sapphire?” she managed, somehow getting herself onto her elbows. Her legs trembled.

“Sleeping like a babe in the crib,” he smiled.

A thin sliver of wan light showed through the curtains – it didn’t look to be much after dawn.

“I suppose you will need to be leaving soon,” Brienne said.

Addam shrugged. “There’s been quite a heavy snowfall overnight, that makes it a pain in the arse with the carriage. Thought I might stay another day. Hope it melts a little”

Brienne stood, pulling her shift back into place. She said nothing.

He persisted. “Thought we might spend it … you know.”

“I have a training session this morning. And another after the midday meal. Plus –”

“A training session? What, for the serving wenches and the wet nurse?”

“Yes.”

He started to laugh, caught the stern expression on her face and stopped himself. “If you say so.”

Brienne headed for the privy.

“Well, before that then. It must be a while until we need to break our fast?”

He caught hold of her wrist as she walked past him, pulled her around to face him.

“Brienne?”

“I need to make my water, if that’s all right with you?”

He let go. “Of course it is.”

When she returned from the privy, he waited for her, sprawled on the bed. He had covered his manhood with a sheet, but it was evident that he was still hard.

Jaime would have said that she owed him a climax, but then Jaime would have pounced on her right after he’d given her the Lord’s Kiss, her bladder be damned. He would have held her down (well, as well as a man with one hand can hold down a woman who was bigger than him), pounded into her for a couple of minutes and then groaned into her neck as he spent. Climax imbalance solved.

Addam looked up with smouldering eyes, his hand toying with his cock through the sheet. “Come back to bed and wrap those long legs around me?”

He looked at her with such lust that Brienne almost looked behind herself to make sure there wasn’t a prettier woman there. Her legs were long, indeed, but that had never been mentioned to her as a _feature_ before.

She went back to bed.

Addam pulled her shift off and nuzzled at her teats with happy noises in the back of his throat. Drew up to kiss her and then fumbled between their bodies to slide deep inside her.

It felt so much better without that annoying linen sheath in the way. So much more intimate. She could feel every twitch and throb of his manhood, the heat of him, that delicious thick fat slide when he thrust. She curled her legs around him, rocked with him, moaned right along with him.

“You feel so good.”

Her hands cradled his face as they kissed and he pulled one to his lips to suckle on her finger, drawing it deep into his mouth and wetting it.

“You have long fingers, too,” he whispered. There was something nervous in his eyes, something vulnerable Brienne hadn’t noticed before. “Would you … use them?”

She was confused.

“On me. Inside me. Did you do that for Jaime?”

Now she was _really_ confused.

“Did I do what?”

“Put your fingers up his arse while you were fucking. Come on; you can’t tell me Jaime doesn’t …”

“Never.”

“Would you?”

“If you want. If it would please you?”

“It pleases me. A lot.”

“All right.”

He looked like he wanted to thank her, but instead, he kissed her hard and then wet her fingers again with a swirl of his tongue. She slid her hand down his back to hold his arse – it was as hairy as the rest of his back and it took her a moment to find what she was looking for between his cheeks.

He hissed as she slid her finger inside him and she wondered if she had done it too quickly and hurt him. But he was shuddering, pushing back against her hand.

“More,” he begged. “Another finger.”

She obliged him and he threw his head back, his eyes rolling. His thrusts grew erratic – it was the most out of control she’d ever seen him.

“Gods, you – I –"

Abruptly, he pulled his cock from her with a yell and hot squirts of his seed sprayed her from her bellybutton to her collarbone. He fell back to the pillows, panting, groaning, sweating, beside her. Brienne looked at him with raised eyebrows. That really _did_ please him.

After a moment, he lifted his face from the pillow with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Where have you been all my life, Brienne of Tarth?”

“Tarth, mostly,” she said.

He got up and found her a washcloth to clean his seed from her body. Sat beside her, the sweat on his skin glistening in the first rays of dawn.

“And with Jaime,” he said.

“Only for a moon.”

“Long enough to bear him a child. Long enough to fall in love.”

Brienne looked over at the crib where Sapphire slept. “What does it matter? I might as well have fallen in love with the wind.”

“You got closer than most.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Brienne got up herself to wash and dress before breakfast would be brought.

“He did it to me, too,” Addam said behind her while she scrubbed her fingernails at her washbowl.

“What?”

“When we were boys together, we were close. I was a page at Casterly Rock, you know, and we were roughly of an age and had similar interests, so … for a while, we were as brothers.”

“Oh?”

“We made plans, as boys do. Plans to have an adventure together, a trip into the forest for hunting and camping and ‘living as knights’, we called it. Nothing unusual.”

He paused for a moment, a furrow growing on his brow.

“Cersei didn’t like it. Of course she didn’t – Cersei wanted Jaime by her side always; he was hers, even then.”

Brienne didn’t comment. She had nothing to say about Cersei Lannister.

“So she told her father I’d been – inappropriate with her. Asked her for kisses, asked to take her maidenhead. Not enough that I’d committed a crime or anything that would cause bad blood between our families, but enough that Tywin couldn’t trust me with his daughter’s virtue.”

“He dismissed you.”

“Well … I think Tywin suspected Cersei might not have been telling the truth. She had form for having maids dismissed and friends disappeared – she didn’t have her father wrapped around her little finger quite the way she thought she did.”

“So what happened?”

“He asked Jaime.”

“Oh.” Brienne already knew the ending to this story.

“And Jaime said he’d seen it all and that’s exactly what I’d done. He lied to his father for Cersei’s sake, and Tywin sent me home.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was many years ago. And – I have worked well with Jaime since. Been friends. But I learned a valuable lesson – never put him in a position where he has to choose you over Cersei. You can’t win.”

Still, a part of Brienne wanted to argue; still, there was a part of her that wanted to defend Jaime. Had he not jumped into a bear pit unarmed to try to save her rather than leave in safety to go home to Cersei? Had he not armed and armoured her to save Sansa Stark, a girl his sister wanted dead?

Instead, she nodded. She had made fool enough of herself defending Jaime – the thought exhausted her now.

Addam came up behind her and put his arms loosely about her waist. Kissed her shoulder. He looked expectantly up at her, seeming to want her to say something.

Just then, Sapphire gave a little cry from her crib.

“She slept well,” said Addam. “For a babe.”

“First night in weeks she has.” Brienne stepped into a pair of breeches and laced them. Threw on yesterday’s tunic before picking her now-squalling bundle from the crib.

Addam smiled affectionately at the two of them as Brienne sat on the bed to put Sapphire to her teat.

“Will you be breaking your fast with me?” she asked.

He scratched the stubble on his chin. “I’d like to. But I should probably tell my men not to worry about leaving today. Not to mention dressing and shaving and … Jaime.”

“Jaime?”

Addam sighed. “I’m better company than the maester, apparently; probably because I let him drink.”

Brienne made a noise of disgust. “So that’s his plan, is it? Drink himself to death?”

“I think he’d prefer death by poppymilk, but … can you blame him? Truly?”

“He’s not exactly the golden lion anymore, but there is still beauty to be found in the world. Even a world without Cersei.”

She looked down at the babe nuzzled at her breast, her bright blue eyes and chubby hands. Sapphire let go of her mother’s nipple to offer her a wide smile and then went back to her suckling. In the light of the morning, Brienne could see that her hair was turning distinctively golden as it was growing in. Starting to curl, too.

“What am I meant to do?” asked Addam. “Take him out to skip through meadows?”

Brienne made a face. “He barely leaves his room. I’m sure he drinks more than he eats. I don’t know … can he ride?”

“A horse? I don’t know – his legs are …”

“The King can ride. He has an adapted saddle. Tyrion, too. Perhaps we could make something like that for Jaime. Take him out for that knights’ adventure you wanted as boys.”

Nothing Cersei could do about it now, she thought.

“I don’t think Tyrion would like us taking him out beyond the walls.”

“Tyrion can come out here and take it up with me then, can’t he. It’s not going to be much good protecting Jaime if he makes his own date with the Stranger.”

Just then, there was a smart rap at the door and Bancey, Nira and Alara came in with breakfast trays. Bancey was all business, but the two younger women could barely disguise their smirks when they saw Addam half-dressed by the washbowl.

Brienne felt her cheeks burn when Bancey ordered the two handmaids to change the bedsheets – she sat down and tried to eat her breakfast with as much dignity as she could muster. The whole room, she realised, smelled like sex and lots of it.

Addam hovered, dressed now and with his boots on. He loitered at the table for a moment before speaking.

“I will … perhaps see you later, then?”

Brienne nodded.

He slung his jacket over his shoulder and left the room. Brienne went back to her eggs, her face burning.

“Will there still be training today, Ser?” asked Nira cheerily.

“Of course!” Brienne snapped. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation that just because I lay with a man that suddenly I can’t –”

“I meant because of the snow, Ser,” Nira said.

“Oh. Oh, I – gods, I’m – I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Ser. Really.”

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have been so – I’m sorry. Truly. Perhaps I’m tired.”

Alara exploded in a giggle. Bancey glared at her.

“What?” the handmaid said. “I’m commiserating. I bet he’s _good_.”

Brienne’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t worry about it, Ser – it’s just sex. I had his footman last night – he was terrible. I’d bet you had a better night than I did.”

It was ridiculously inappropriate – if a handmaid had spoken to a highborn woman in that way in any castle in the Seven Kingdoms, she would have been immediately dismissed. But – this wasn’t a castle, and these women were more than her servants.

They weren’t judging her for taking her pleasures with Addam; they were just talking about it. And strangely, it felt nice.

“He is pretty good,” she confided with a shamed grin.

All three of the women drew closer, big smirks on their faces.

“I knew it!” said Alara.

“Better than Limpy Lion?” asked Bancey.

“At some things. Ser Jaime is better when he – you know, with his _tongue_. It’s his favourite thing, so he takes his time. But he’s got a big problem lasting long enough with his cock. Ser Addam is better there.”

Oh, Gods, this should have been beyond mortifying. But strangely, it wasn’t.

“My husband was like that,” said Bancey. “All over before it began. Bless him. You don’t mind when you love them, though.”

“No,” agreed Brienne with a sigh.

“I had the Little Lion once,” said Alara.

“Lord Tyrion?” asked Brienne, aghast. “I heard he only lay with whores.”

“Alara was a camp follower!” Nira said with a laugh. “How do you think she managed to get this job with her manners?”

Alara laughed and gave her a playful shove. “Least I’ve had a man!”

Nira made a face of disgust, as though she couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Are you a maid, Nira?” asked Brienne.

Alara laughed. “She’s no maid. She likes to lay with women is all. The big tavern wenches with the big arms from lifting the barrels all day, isn’t that right?”

Now it was Nira’s turn to blush to her boots. She couldn’t meet Brienne’s eyes.

The four of them continued to chat while Brienne broke her fast, and when Sapphire finished her feed she too joined in, gurgling and squealing and grabbing for every forkful that Brienne was trying to eat.

Once breakfast was done, Bancey took Sapphire off to the nursery to bathe and dress and play, while Nira and Alara helped Brienne into her armour in time for the morning’s training session.

“Ser Addam is staying another night, is he, Ser?” asked Alara with a wry smile.

“Apparently so.”

“The snow’s not _that_ bad,” said Nira.

“It’s a long journey back, to stay just the one night,” Brienne replied. “And it’s cold.”

Alara laughed as she laced Brienne’s left pauldron. “Better if he stays the night somewhere nice and warm then!”

Brienne couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Does Limpy Lion know?”

“About Ser Addam and me? No.”

“You should tell him.”

Brienne shook her head. The thought hurt her.

“Why not? He’d have no right of complaint. Might make him think a bit.”

“He’s quite prone to jealousy.”

“All the better. The thought that another man might raise his child …”

Brienne shook her head, more vehemently this time. Jaime wouldn’t care about Sapphire. “I’ve lain with Ser Addam three times. And it was just …” She trailed off, lacking the words.

“Just sex?” Alara finished for her.

Brienne nodded. This was a new world for her. The thought that a woman could lie with a man and enjoy it without expecting marriage would follow.

“He seems keen, though. He stayed the whole night, and he wants to stay another.”

“There’s no future in it.” How could there be? A marriage would please Tyrion and put Sapphire right where he wanted her. There was no point thinking on it, even if she had been capable of romantic feelings right now.

“You still love, him, Ser?” asked Nira suddenly. “Limpy Lion.”

“No,” she said, but she wasn’t sure it was true. The feelings were there; otherwise, Jaime would not be able to cut her in two quite so oft. She felt the same as she always had for him, but it was _him_ that was different. Like she had fallen for someone who had never existed.

Dressed in her armour, Brienne strapped on her swordbelt and went out in the yard to meet the morning group of trainees. The women had cleared a space in the snow to spar already – Brienne was endlessly impressed by their enthusiasm.

The training went well, and when the women went their separate ways, Brienne climbed the ladder into the lookout to relieve the two housemaids who had been there since first light. The two of them were freezing so she sent them indoors to find a fire and a hot drink. Thinking that she really must find a way to make or buy some warm cloaks for the women when they were on duty. No one had much in the form of coin to buy anything themselves.

Brienne watched the remaining women in the yard spar among themselves, practising the moves she had taught them, laughing and shouting and knocking each other into the slush.

As she watched, the door to the tower opened, and Addam emerged. He had shaved and changed his clothes since she had seen him last, and he cut a dashing figure in dark leather and pale grey cloak trimmed with white fur. Snow blew through his copper hair and Brienne trembled a little inside her armour, remembering how she had woken up to see that head buried between her legs.

She was quite glad he was staying another night.

He held up a hand to her from across the courtyard and she waved back, trying not to smile. Then he reached back and held the door open for someone else. Someone hunched over a stick, his ratty old cape trailing in the mud as he lurched from one leg to the other.

Jaime.

She put her hand down, and the smile fell off her face.

She couldn’t be too angry – it was almost midday, and perhaps they were headed to the servants’ quarters to have lunch together. She had encouraged Addam to get Jaime out more, after all.

But no. The two of them stood in the courtyard, watching Brienne’s women spar. Jaime had his head low, so that his hair flopped over his face, covering his scar and his missing ear. He didn’t much seem keen on watching anything but the gravel.

But Addam started speaking to the women, offering them some suggestions. He took the stick from a kitchen maid’s hand to demonstrate what he was talking about, blocking the lunge of her opponent with ease and dancing out of the way ready to strike. The kitchen maid thanked him and tried it herself.

Jaime stood well back, his head still bowed and his brow furrowed. No doubt he remembered how it felt to have a sword in his hand and be light on his feet. That must be hard, Brienne thought. For a moment, a pang of sadness went through her body for her golden lion. To once have been the most brilliant swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms and now –

Just then, Bancey emerged from the farmhouse with Sapphire in her arms, a basket of lunch for Brienne as well, as had become their custom before the afternoon’s training session.

Brienne cursed under her breath at the timing – her eyes shot to Jaime. Just as his shot to Bancey.

Sapphire looked _beautiful_ – blue-eyed, apple-cheeked and with her golden curls peeping from her little woollen bonnet. She grabbed at Bancey’s cheeks, giggling and smiling her wide smile with her two little teeth on full display. She had the most wonderful smile.

The last time Jaime had seen his daughter as close as this, she had been tiny, just a bundle in a blanket. She was a proper child now, with a face of her own. Now he looked at Sapphire the way he had used to look at Brienne, eyes wide and mouth open.

Brienne jumped down the ladder and took Sapphire from Bancey as quickly as she could, turning her back on Jaime so he could not see the babe any more.

He didn’t deserve to look at her that way. What had he done to earn the sight of that perfect smile? Brienne had given up everything: her home, her family, her job, her duty. She’d endured the miserable agony of the birthing bed and every sleepless night since. Jaime had only thought about Cersei.

By the time Brienne had climbed back into the lookout, Jaime had gone. Fled, she suspected, as fast as his limping legs could carry him. Addam was still down there, helping a stable-girl with her footwork, but he looked up at Brienne now with sad eyes.

Brienne dumped her breastplate and sat down to give Sapphire her feed, wrapping her warm cloak about them both to provide some protection from the biting wind. She took her lunch from the basket and told Bancey she could do the watch on her own. If the wet nurse said one kind word to her, she knew she would not be able to hold back the tears.

They came anyway, as soon as Bancey had gone. She cursed herself for her weakness and wiped them away with the back of her glove – it was far too cold to cry.

“Don’t,” said a voice behind her, almost startling her into dropping Sapphire. She spun in her chair to see Addam, stepping off the top rung of the ladder. He held out a handkerchief that perfectly matched the grey of his cloak. “Jaime isn’t worth your tears.”

“No, but Sapphire is,” she said. “She deserves better than this. Better than _him_.”

“I shouldn’t have brought him out here. I was trying to do what you suggested, get him out of that tower. I thought he might take an interest in the sparring.”

Brienne scoffed. Sapphire reached up a plump little hand to play with the unfastened laces of Brienne’s gambeson. Brienne held her even tighter against her breast.

“She’ll _know_ , won’t she. Someone will tell her, or Tyrion will force me to make her his heir. And she’ll know she’s lived here all these years with a father who won’t even look at her.”

Addam was silent for a long time before speaking. “Leave, then.”

“Leave?”

“Let’s get married, call Tyrion’s bluff. Being regents at Casterly Rock would be better than this. We know we would have fun abed, I see no reason we couldn’t make a marriage work.”

“Jaime …”

“Let Jaime drink himself to death or have a fit and fall downstairs. Let him wallow in the misery he made himself. Like you said – Sapphire deserves better.”

“But I don’t want her to be a Lannister.”

“She’s no Lannister, look at her. She may have his hair, but she’s going to be the spit of you. And if you raised her, if _we_ raised her – well, then that’s what Lannisters would be, wouldn’t they? No more incest or imps or … or _Kingslayers_. Lannisters would be tall and serious and have brilliant blue eyes. They’d be honourable and brave and … _very_ good in bed.”

Brienne let out a pig-snort of laughter at that. More than a little hysterical.

“This is no jest,” he told her. “I mean it.”

She looked at her boots. “I know.”

He fell silent then. Then there was just the sound of the wind whistling through the tree they were in. Rattling the roof of the stables below them.

“I will think on it,” she promised him eventually. But she knew it wouldn’t be so easy as all that. They wouldn't be regents, not in truth. They would be prisoners. Collaborators, too.

Addam nodded but said nothing.

He took the other seat, and they sat together in near-silence, sharing the basket of food Bancey had brought. Sapphire fed herself to sleep and lay back in Brienne’s arms, milk-drunk and asleep with her mouth open.

When it was time for the afternoon training session, Addam came too. He held Sapphire while she napped, while Brienne walked among the lines, shouting instructions to her recruits. He watched her with thoughtful eyes. Looking soft.

At sundown, when the training session was long over and the next batch of women came to do the watch in the lookout, Bancey met Brienne and Addam at the door of the farmhouse to take Sapphire for her bath.

She told Brienne that food and a tub of her own awaited her upstairs. Normally, Bancey would have waited for her in her room, along with Nira and Alara, but this evening they had decided to give her some time alone with Addam. It was both thoughtful and embarrassing.

Addam followed her upstairs, though. And sure enough, there were two plates laid out, and enough food for both of them. Wine, too, even though Brienne was nursing. They had also found her a much bigger tub. Lit only half the candles in the room and turned down the bedsheets. It looked like a room made up for a newlywed couple.

Brienne flushed to her boots. “I – I didn’t ask her to do this,” she blurted.

Addam laughed as he took his cloak off. He sat down in front of his food and held out his hand to her.

“I am pleased your wet nurse likes me.”

Brienne frowned. She shucked her gambeson and washed her hands at her washbowl. “She’s a good woman, as are the others. They have been good to me and Sapphire – it would have been lonely without them.”

She took her seat opposite him, and he held her hand. Looked at her while she started eating. Sipped her wine. Took a second forkful.

“I’ll come back soon,” he said. “Inside a moon, if I can.”

She nodded. Took her hand from his so she could use her knife.

“I’ll stay a little longer next time, too. A week, perhaps. If I told Tyrion I want to help Jaime learn to ride …”

“Was he interested?” She picked up her mutton by the bone to take a bite. It was excellent – the sauce ran down her chin and she stopped to lick her lips.

“Jaime? Not really. But perhaps he could be persuaded. If I had a saddle made for him.”

Brienne nodded, chewing.

Addam helped himself to a large glass of wine. Drank it thoughtfully while watching her eat.

“Are you not hungry?” she asked him after she had picked her plate clean.

“Not for _food_ ,” he smirked. “Though I must say watching you devour a mutton chop has given me quite the appetite for _something_.”

Brienne put her stripped bone down. Her Septa had often admonished her for overeating in the presence of men; Brienne had always thought she meant it wasn’t ladylike or that she might get fat and thus more unattractive. She had never imagined that it was because she might arouse them.

She licked her lips. Got to her feet and went to Addam. Part of her had been anticipating this all day.

He was hard already in his breeches; she noticed the bulge as she leaned down to kiss him. He took her lips fiercely, but his tongue was tender, and he groaned softly in the back of his throat.

He got to his feet and wrapped both arms around her, pressing that hard bulge into her thigh.

“Have you ever made love in a bathtub?” he whispered.

That was a complicated question. Brienne had been in the bath with Jaime of course, back in Harrenhal, but they’d been intimate in an entirely different way. Not in a way she could explain to Addam.

She shook her head.

“Neither have I,” he told her. “Let’s see what it’s like.”

They stripped each other, kissing and grinning and quite heady with lust. Addam tasted like wine and madness and fun and futility. He groaned and told her he wanted her when she stroked his cock. She wanted him too.

He got into the tub first and then pulled her on top of him, helping her to straddle him and then lower herself onto his manhood. His eyes slitted and his mouth fell open. She kissed him hard and rode him gently, already the water threatened to spill over the sides of the tub.

He, incongruously, grabbed the soap. Rubbed it between his hands and onto Brienne’s skin – her back, her sides, the hair under her arms. Worked it until it lathered bubbles all over her. Looked at her with such _want_ that it made her tremble.

He dipped his head to take her nipple into his mouth, suckling for her milk with a deep, satisfied groan. He sucked until he triggered her let-down and then pulled hard at each nipple in turn; she was groaning too, on her knees, head tipped back, only the very tip of his cock inside her. The nipple he wasn’t sucking leaked milk down her breast, through the lather on her body, into the bathwater.

It felt good; it felt wild; it felt decadent. Addam’s hand slid between her legs.

Brienne was dizzy – lost in the sound of her panting and his sucking, of the splashing bathwater, the squeak of her hands as they clutched at the sides of the tub. The sound of someone calling her name.

She barely registered it the first time. The second time, it was louder. Not Addam.

She lifted her head and opened her eyes just in time to see the door open. Went to push Addam back, but only got as far as getting her hands on his shoulders.

Her heart leapt into her throat. There, in the shadows of the doorway, his eyes lost under the fall of his hair, was Jaime.

“Jaime!” she gasped.

Addam released her nipple from his mouth with an audible pop. “Jaime?!” His eyes were hurt and angry – belatedly she realised he thought she’d called him by another man’s name.

But he followed her eye line to the door and saw for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the awesome comments. So sorry I am still behind on answering them all - I think I need a PA for this story! So many people with interesting ideas and questions about the plot. I promise I am still ploughing through them all.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely CaptainTarthister for the support and the sounding-board she has provided me with. She's so invaluable and wonderful and this would be infinitely less fun without her.
> 
> As always, if you'd like teasers and updates on this story then come follow me on Twitter. I'm @StupidLannister and I'd love to chat there too.


	7. Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Jaime's discovery.

Time stopped.

Brienne wanted to get out of the bath, wanted to get her robe, a towel, something to cover herself, but she was naked. Of course she was naked; that was the point. But right now, the water and Addam were concealing most of her body, and she didn’t want to feel more exposed than she already did.

Jaime seemed frozen too, his eyes huge and his face the very picture of utter shock.

“Are you – are you _fucking_?” he asked.

A hysterical laugh threatened to burst out of Brienne’s mouth. What else could they possibly be doing? Did he think she let a naked man suck her nipples in the bath platonically?

Addam clung to her, still beneath her. Still inside her.

“Jaime …” he said.

Jaime held up what had once been a hand. The other clung to his cane, white-knuckled. “You … you’re _fucking._ You’re actually fucking.”

A thousand emotions seemed to cross his face in the blink of an eye. He hobbled further into the room.

Brienne got out of the bath. Clutching her hands over her teats, grabbing for her clothes. Belatedly, she realised they had been soaked by slopping bathwater and went for her robe instead. The one she had worn on the night Jaime had left her at Winterfell.

Addam had the presence of mind to pick up the towel. He rose from the water far more gracefully, despite his hard, red manhood. He looked Jaime right in the eye as he wrapped it about himself. Jaime’s eyes were glued to his cock.

“Maybe we should talk,” Addam said.

“No,” Jaime replied. He had limped over to the table now.

“It just happened,” Addam said. “It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? _Hurt_ me?” Jaime’s voice rose now. “You think this _hurts_ me?” He picked up Brienne’s wine glass and threw it at her face.

She ducked; it shattered into a million shards on the bedpost behind her, showering the room with glass.

She gaped at him. The glass was everywhere, all over the floor, all over the bed. Glistening in Sapphire’s crib, too. If she’d been in there …

“You’re the one who’ll be hurt!” he shouted to Addam. He picked up the other glass, wobbling on his unsteady feet. “She’ll hurt you. Like you’ve never been hurt before.”

“Jaime –" Brienne looked for her sword, just in case, but she’d propped it on the other side of the room.

Jaime didn’t hear her. “She’ll get under your skin, rip you to pieces, tie you in knots until all you can think about are those huge blue eyes. She’ll make you betray everything you ever stood for, just to please her and her sense of bloody honour.”

“Put the glass down,” Brienne told him. Trying to stay calm.

Jaime didn’t. He threw it, again at her head, though it was a clumsy throw from his twisted left arm and this time it missed her by more than a foot. It, too, shattered all over the floor. “Do you think I’m going to let this happen? You fuck up my whole life, leave me like … like _this_ and move on to another man …”

“Jaime, _you_ left _me_.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was? How much I thought about you, about wanting to be with you, the whole time I was riding back to King’s Landing? Every night I wanted to be climbing under those furs with you, every morning I tried to turn my horse around. My sister and my child needed me, they _needed_ me, and all I could think about was _you_.”

“Have you lost your wits?!” Addam barked. He’d tied the towel about his waist and now advanced on Jaime. “Just how many bricks landed on your head anyway, Lannister?”

Jaime blinked. He looked shocked – Addam was supposed to be a subordinate. He took a step back, clinging to a chair for support.

“You dishonoured her. You left her. She birthed your bastard child alone. You’ve been nothing but vile to her ever since and now you have the gall to blame her for it too?”

Jaime laughed, a braying, near-hysterical laugh that didn’t touch his mad eyes. “See?” he said. “She’s got you too! I bet you think you’re in love.”

He picked up the chair he was holding. Tried to throw it at Addam – it barely left his hand and he almost fell over the legs of it as it went.

Brienne despaired. This would never end, would it. “Please, Jaime. Go back to the tower. Calm down.”

“It’s no concern of yours how I feel,” Addam said, over her. “Nor Brienne, either.”

“Were you fucking in King’s Landing? How long has this been going on?”

“It’s no concern of yours,” repeated Addam.

“Oh I understand,” Jaime said, turning his venom on Addam now. “This is not the first time you have tried to lay with a woman who I lay with. Remember when we were children, how you tried to force yourself on Cersei, too?”

“Gods, Jaime!” Addam cried. “Is that how you remember it?”

“Is it a form of envy, perhaps? Always on the periphery of the Lannisters, always having to serve and fight for us as bannerman but never being one of us?”

“Believe me, Jaime, being you is the last thing I envy.”

“At least my sister wasn’t desperate enough to _actually_ bed you.”

“By the gods, man. _Stop_.”

“Why should I?”

“You – you caught us fucking. That’s all. Just fucking. Neither Brienne nor I are wed to others, neither of us a maid. There’s no dishonour here – it’s a private indiscretion. You’re making a fool of yourself. Cool off. Go to bed.”

“Why – so you can get back to fucking my discarded whore?”

Brienne punched him.

Without thinking about it, without considering it. Without stopping to remember that Jaime was a depressed cripple who had clearly lost half his mind. She stepped forward and punched him so hard in the mouth that she knocked him clean off his feet.

“I am _not_ your whore!”

For a second, she saw the old Jaime flash in his eyes. That sword-sharp gleam of pleasure at her rage, that instinct to go for a weapon and come up fighting, golden and glorious. He was in there somewhere, despite his shattered mind and body.

She felt the old Brienne, too. Honourable, steadfast. True to herself. Loving a man did not make her a whore, no matter what her father said. And she had _not_ been Jaime’s whore, not ever. She had loved him, as true as a woman had ever loved a man in this world. She was tired of the shame.

Jaime tried to jump to his feet, looking as though he wanted to punch her back, but he stumbled badly and fell back to his knees. He stayed there, rubbing his jaw. There was blood on his teeth and lip.

Addam looked at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She guessed he’d never seen a woman punch a cripple before.

“Leave, Jaime,” she told him.

“No,” he said. But suddenly he didn’t sound angry. He sounded strange. “Can’t.”

His eyes looked strange too. Wide yet sleepy.

“Oh fuck, I’m go –“

The life seemed to snuff out of him then, and for a brief second, Brienne thought him dead. It reminded her so much of the times she had seen men die, some at her own hand – life just vanished from their eyes in the briefest of instants.

He let out a sound, half a groan and half a strangled yell as his body went stiff, his back arching, his toes pointing and his hand in a tight fist. Then he started jerking and shaking, wracking convulsions that overtook his entire body.

“Oh, shit,” said Addam.

He leapt over the thrown chair and caught Jaime, grabbing his head so he didn’t bounce it off the wooden floor. Cradling it on his lap. He groped blindly on the table above him. “A spoon – or a fork, pass me one!” he begged Brienne.

Brienne was frozen. Utterly frozen.

“Brienne! I need a spoon! Ser!”

The use of her title snapped her out of it. “What? Why?”

“The maester always does it. So he doesn’t bite his tongue.”

Brienne lunged over them both to the tabletop and grabbed a spoon. Addam jammed the handle widthways between Jaime’s teeth and held it there while he thrashed. Brienne backed away, watching in horror.

She was far from squeamish – she had seen the abomination of battle, and countless atrocities in her journey through the war-torn countryside of Westeros. But this was worse than blood and death. He looked horrific – inhuman — bent and twisted, with rolling eyes and foaming mouth. How could this be Jaime? She had once thought him the most beautiful sight her eyes had ever beheld.

“Should I get the maester?” she asked. Her voice was only a little above a whisper.

Addam nodded. “It should pass soon, but …”

“I’ll go.”

Brienne fled the room, ashamed at her response but unable to pull herself together. She’d seen him have a fit on the first night she had arrived, but … not this close. Not right after she’d knocked him flying.

She ran out of the farmhouse’s front door, forgetting entirely that she was barefoot and wet from her bath and dressed only in a robe until she was ankle-deep in the remains of last night’s snow. The shock of the cold took her breath away, forced all of her feelings up into her throat. It was too much. She had to stop and vomit, leaning against the wall to retch her dinner up into the snow. Gods, Jaime had –

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and dashed across the courtyard into the tower.

Maester Smallwood’s room was upstairs beside Jaime’s, and he was clearly used to being woken at all hours. He was up out of his bed and dashing into Jaime’s chamber before Brienne had a chance to tell him that he actually needed to come to the farmhouse.

The fit had all but finished by the time they got back. The maester’s eyes went wide when he saw Addam sitting on the floor in nought but a towel, as well as the puddles of slopped bathwater, the thrown chair and the remnants of the two shattered glasses. To his credit, he did not ask what had happened.

Jaime was starting to come back to himself, groaning inarticulately as his body relaxed. The front of his breeches was soaked with piss again, Brienne noticed.

“Welcome back, my Lord,” the maester said. He knelt and tended Jaime with gentle hands, removing the spoon from between his teeth and wiping his beard with a napkin.

Jaime didn’t answer. His head lolled on his neck, all but useless.

“I didn’t hear him leave,” Smallwood said. “I left him with his dreamwine – I thought he would drink it and go to sleep as he usually does.”

Brienne furrowed her brow, wondering what exactly _had_ made Jaime make the journey to her room from the tower. With his bent legs and using his cane, all those stairs must be dangerous at the best of times.

“I was not expecting him, either,” she said.

The maester didn’t comment.

“He needs sleep,” he said instead. “He needs his dreamwine. Do you think we might carry him to his chambers?”

“He can have my bed,” Addam said. “It’s closer. We should be able to get him downstairs between us, it’s the closest as Ser Brienne’s bed is full of broken glass.”

“So I see,” the maester said with a furrowed brow. Brienne wondered if he had also noticed Jaime’s split lip and her own swollen knuckles. It was not the most dignified scene, she had to admit.

“I hit him,” she confessed. Not even really intending to. “A punch to the mouth. It’s been a long time coming, but – did I trigger this?”

The maester shrugged. He did not seem in the least surprised she had done it. “You should know Ser Jaime has suffered a significant head injury. This sort of thing is not uncommon in people who have gone through what he has. It makes them difficult. Changeable. Paranoid. And the fits are a symptom, too. He has several a day so I would say it’s hard to say what triggers them. It’s not something you should worry about unduly, Ser.”

She nodded, but couldn’t seem to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Let me dress,” Addam said, lowering Jaime gently to the floor. “Then we can carry him to the guest-chamber.”

His eyes went to Brienne’s as he stood, full of some unreadable emotion. He picked up his breeches and stepped into them, lacing them beneath the towel.

His modesty was somewhat pointless, Brienne thought. After tonight’s ruckus, everyone on the farm would know they were fucking.

He threw a shirt on, and he and Maester Smallwood helped Jaime to his feet, an arm over each of their shoulders. Brienne felt as though she should have offered to help, but she didn’t. The thought of holding Jaime that close …

She turned to her room instead, surveying the mess. Started picking the shards of broken glass from her bed.

There were thousands of them, all glittering in the candlelight, making the sheets and the furs look like a sea of stars. Sapphire’s crib was the same – it would need to be cleaned out in daylight to make sure they had every piece. The thought of her babe picking one up, cutting her little hands …

It made her want to punch Jaime all over again.

Thankfully, there was another bed, in the room that would one day be Sapphire’s. It was small, but she would have to be content to sleep there tonight, as would Addam, unless he decided to bunk with one of his men.

Brienne took some candles down the narrow hallway to the room and started setting a fire in the grate, making sure it was well alight before turning down the bed. She finished just in time to hear Addam return. He called her name and she went to him to find him standing by the table, righting the chair Jaime had thrown.

“Jaime wants to speak to you,” he said with a sigh.

Brienne gave a bone-weary groan. “Truly? I think he’s said enough for one night, don't you?”

Addam nodded. His shoulders sagged in his tunic. “He’s refusing to drink his dreamwine until he has.”

“Of course he is. Spoilt shit.”

“That he is.”

They locked eyes for a moment, what felt like a lifetime of misery and pain passing between them.

“Well, that was a more dramatic evening than I had anticipated,” he said. He gave Brienne a miserable grin and held his arms out for her.

She fell into his embrace with a sigh, and they squeezed each other tight, so tight she could barely breathe. She kissed his hair and he shifted in her arms to bring his lips to hers.

They kissed, softly at first, to comfort, but then the kisses intensified, hard breath and hot tongues. That flame of _want_ roared to life between them and then his lips were all over her, and his hands as well, pulling at her robe, opening it to get at her bare skin.

A moment later and Brienne was perched on the edge of the table, moaning obscenely while he thrust his tongue in her sex.

She clawed at his hair, and he growled and sucked her clit until the pitch of her cries rose to soprano screams. She came hard, shuddering against him, a release and a rebirth.

Addam staggered to his feet and wrenched his breeches open. Brienne pulled him against her, pulled him into her, raking her fingers over his arse and up through the hair on his back to yank his head down to hers for a kiss. The taste of her cunt was as rich as cream on his tongue.

“Fuck me, fuck me …” Addam begged, but it was he who fucked her. So hard the table moved across the floor, so hard the plates rattled, and friction from her robe burned her arse.

Jaime had seen them. He had seen them fucking.

She could picture his face now, white with shock. His wide eyes. His open mouth. He had seen them fucking, seen Addam’s mouth on her teats, seen his hands on her body, seen how she rode his cock hard.

“I’m going to come!” she yelled. She gritted her teeth in what she was sure must be the ugliest grimace in all the Seven Kingdoms as her thrill raced through her body — screamed for the sheer release.

Addam pulled himself frantically from her body, his hand a blur on his cock. He cursed and gripped her thigh with clenching fingers as he spilt his seed over the thick hair on her cunt.

“Gods,” he panted. Stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Brienne lay spreadeagled on the table, her robe hanging from her shoulders, her right elbow in the gravy on her dinner plate. Addam passed her a napkin.

“You’re bleeding,” she said as she wiped his seed from her. A thick streak of blood poured down his foot.

“Oh. So I am.”

He picked his foot up to see a thin sliver of glass sticking out of his skin, just below his ankle. He yanked it out between his thumb and forefinger.

“Didn’t even feel it,” he boasted.

It bled quite copiously, though. Brienne wrinkled her brow. “Maester Smallwood should see it. Is he still with Jaime?”

“He’s waiting with him until he’s had his dreamwine, but honestly, it’s fine.”

She shrugged. “The maester can be the judge of that. Besides, Jaime wanted to speak to me, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“I don’t suppose I can expect a grovelling apology?”

Addam laughed. “I wouldn’t advise holding your breath.”

She laughed a little too, which felt good, or what passed for good in this place. She shucked the robe and found herself some clothes. Took a drink of wine to take the taste of vomit and her own cunt from out of her mouth.

She held out a hand to him. “Come on, then.”

He took her hand, threading his fingers with hers and squeezing them. It felt nice. Warm. Companionable. They went downstairs together and rapped on the door of the guest chambers.

Maester Smallwood answered, stepping aside to let them in.

Jaime was sat up in bed, looking deathly pale, his jaw clenched in pain.

“You’ve quite finished rattling the chandeliers then, have you?” he spat.

Belatedly, Brienne realised her room was right above this one. Between the scraping table and the screams of passion, they hadn’t exactly been discreet. “Yes, thank you,” she said.

His face was sour.

“You had something you wanted to say?” she asked, keen to get this over with.

“I did. Alone.” He looked over at Addam and the maester, who was looking at the still-bleeding cut on Addam’s foot.

“What difference does it make, Jaime? Everyone here has already heard you insult me. Just say what you have to say and let me get some sleep.”

“I’m not going to insult you,” he said. “I’ve learned my lesson - I think you cracked a tooth.”

Addam stood with a sigh. “Don’t worry. We can do this elsewhere.”

Jaime’s eyes followed Addam and Maester Smallwood out of the room. Narrow and hateful.

“Are you going to marry him?” he asked as soon as the door shut.

Brienne closed her eyes. Let out a slow breath. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No. I’m curious.”

“Why?”

He tilted his head, looking her up and down with those same, hateful eyes. “You can call it jealousy if you want.”

Brienne opened her mouth, but her retort died in her throat. The room seemed to shrink around them.

“Run away from him,” he said. Almost too low for her to hear. “Run. Take our babe and run as far and as fast as you can.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but something about his expression stopped her. She stared at him in silence for a long moment. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Your brother …”

“Tyrion –“

“He has me trapped here. Do you not know? He wants Sapphire to be his heir; he wants her legitimised and raised as a Lannister. He wants her to have Casterly Rock –"

Jaime laughed. Loudly.

“You think that’s _funny_?”

“A little. In a dark way, I suppose.”

“Do you not care at all that she’s your daughter? I know you’ve had an injury to your head, one that’s affected your wits, but –“

“I came to see her.”

“When?”

“Earlier. When I found you. With _him_.”

“You came –“

“I saw her in the yard. Your woman brought her out to you. And she – she looked …”

“What?”

“She doesn’t look like a Lannister.”

“No. People say she favours me.”

“She _does_. I – I hadn’t anticipated that. My other children …”

“You got them on your twin sister. Of _course_ they’d look like Lannisters.”

He nodded slowly. Chewed on his lower lip. “I hadn’t allowed myself to think about how your – _our_ child might look. I - I didn’t want to think of her as a replacement for the child who died in Cersei’s belly. That hurt me and I couldn’t face it.”

Brienne said nothing. Jaime’s eyes were on her, a penetrating gaze.

“Sapphire,” he said. “It’s an interesting name.”

“I thought it might remind me of home.”

“Home, yes. Why didn’t you take her to Tarth?”

“My father. He wouldn’t have me. He wouldn’t have the Kingslayer’s Whore.”

Jaime sucked in a breath. “He called you that? Your own father?”

“He has not been the only one.”

Jaime looked down. At his twisted arm, resting on the bedsheets. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I _am_.”

She shook her head, her words getting caught and stuck on a sob forming in her throat.

“Run away from him,” Jaime said again. He sounded urgent. Frightened. “Addam. Don’t get attached.”

She looked back to him. “Why?”

“My brother …”

“Your brother thinks I’ll marry _you_. He’s convinced of it.”

“You won’t have a choice. Soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is about more than an heir to Casterly Rock. Have you not realised?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Haven’t you seen it? Your Kingsmoot. Tyrion. He backed a crippled boy whose family seceded from the Seven Kingdoms. Whose army were devastated and would take more than a moon to reach the capital.”

“So?”

“So he must know there’s not much longevity in that. He stuffed the Kingsguard with squires, and put a woman in charge. No offence – you’re more than capable of _that_ job. But you are a woman who lay with a Lannister. The Small Council, too. Untested fools and Lannister sycophants. A Grand Maester who hasn’t so much as earned his chain? _Bronn_ as Master of Coin? The fucking Onion Knight?! It’s almost like someone is deliberately making the kingdom as weak as possible, isn’t it.”

Brienne had to confess – some of the choices had been a little unorthodox. But what he proposed was ridiculous. “Why would he do that?”

“Think about it. I’ve had little time to do much else with my body so broken. Who is the heir to the Seven Kingdoms?”

“There’s no heir. It doesn’t work like that any more.”

He waved his hand, impatient. “No no – not all that mummery. Who is it? Who is Cersei’s heir?”

“Well, I –“ Brienne had to think. Cersei’s babe had died with her, and her other children before that. The Lion Queen had no other family but … “Oh! Gods … _you_?”

Jaime nodded.

“No. No, Tyrion can’t be. He was with Daenerys. He fought _against_ Cersei! Only to put a Lannister back on the throne? It makes no sense.”

“Cersei. Joffrey. Not Lannisters that like him. Not Lannisters he can _control_. Not stupid, easily-led, brain-damaged Lannisters spending their days looking for ways to kill themselves.”

“No …”

“Yes. Tyrion can’t rule himself. He’s a twisted little demon monkey, despised by the common folk in every way. He needs a puppet. Me first, and then –“

“Sapphire.”

He nodded. “Sapphire. A brand new Lannister for a brand new dynasty.”

Brienne felt the world drop out from beneath her. Her knees sagged and she sat down with a plop on the edge of the bed. Her arse pressed against his legs. “He wants her to be Queen.”

Jaime nodded.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

“You have to _leave_. Disappear somewhere.”

“I can’t. Addam was right. He –”

“Addam knows.”

“What?”

“He smuggled me out of the city for Tyrion. While the dragon queen and her dragon were still in power. While there were soldiers everywhere, Unsullied and Dothraki and Northmen too. That – that’s certain death if he’s discovered. Death by dragonfire. Why did he do that? What did Tyrion promise him?”

“He’s your friend. A loyal bannerman.”

“Are you sure? Do you trust him?”

“I –”

“Come on, Brienne. You have to be smart this time. Stop thinking with your cunt; it doesn’t do you any favours.”

“I’m not. I –”

“You don’t know him. He’s been my friend since boyhood; I know him. He’d not be beyond bedding you if he thought it might further his position. He tried it with Cersei, that wasn’t just an insult I threw at him up there.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “You should have known better than to believe Cersei.”

“I didn’t need to believe her. I saw it happen. I saw it, and I told my father.”

“That’s not the way Addam tells it.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m sure he told you Cersei manipulated me into lying for her. But that isn’t true – you know I wouldn’t have done that.”

“No. No – this afternoon. Addam said we should …” But she stopped herself. This afternoon, Addam had suggested they marry. Legitimise Sapphire. Do what Tyrion wanted.

She put her hand to her mouth.

“Be careful,” he warned her. His lips twisted into that knife-sharp grin of his that she had once found so irresistible. “Unless you _wish_ to rule Westeros at my side, of course?”

She shook her head.

“I thought not.” He looked her up and down as if waiting for her to say something. Continued only when he was sure she wouldn’t. “Go. Sleep. Fuck him if you must – best he doesn’t grow suspicious, yes? Tell him I wanted to insult you some more, I’m sure he’ll believe it.”

He reached for the goblet of dreamwine and swallowed it greedily.

“I’m sorry I threw a glass at you,” he said after a moment. He nestled into the softness of his pillow, his eyes already fluttering shut. “I was only jealous.”

“No, you're not.”

“I am,” he whispered. “I really am.”

Brienne left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, please send your love and hugs to CaptainTarthister this week. She's been through so much and suffered a tragic loss very close to her and has still found time to be my absolute bestie and help me with this chapter. She's a remarkable person and a huge inspiration to me.
> 
> Secondly, thanks for all the comments and thoughts on the story so far. Again I haven't caught up on replies yet but I wanted to get this chapter out quick after the meanie of a cliffhanger I left it on last time. Just wanted to let you all know how much I love and appreciate hearing your thoughts, theories and ideas about the story and whether you are on Team Braddam or Team Braime! Keep them coming.
> 
> Thirdly, a very lovely reader made a Spotify playlist for this story and was kind enough to allow me to share the link with you all. I'm sure you'll agree it's amazing. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1jWvNX9PrbT6ELvgPSvBRx?si=3_v79DiKSG2yN9aTEgPR2w
> 
> In the meantime, if you're in the mood to get teasers and updates on this story as well as lots of unashamed chneck lust, please come and say hi on my Twitter, @StupidLannister.


	8. Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

Brienne woke at dawn to the sound of Sapphire’s cries. Again. It had been a restless night in the cramped nursery bed – the babe had woken at least once an hour, both hungry and crying from her teething pains.

The sun was mostly up and outside Brienne could hear the sounds of Addam’s carriage being prepared for the long trip back to King’s Landing. Addam himself, however, was fast asleep behind her, squashed uncomfortably against the wall.

She sat down to feed Sapphire on the edge of the bed and reached over to shake Addam awake.

“The sun’s up,” she told him.

He groaned. Rubbed his eyes. “Already?”

“Already.”

He sat up and wiped the drool from his cheek. He looked good, she thought, even with sleep-mussed hair and two days of stubble. Even in just his smallclothes, tented as they were with his morning erection.

He dragged himself from the bed and took a peek between the curtains.

“They’re waiting for me,” he said with regret. “I had hoped to wake earlier than this, so we might …”

“Never mind,” Brienne said.

He stood for a moment, not saying anything. Looking like he had something to say.

“I’ll return soon,” he said eventually. “As soon as I can. I’ll stay longer, too.”

Brienne nodded.

“If I can get Jaime’s saddle made, then Tyrion will think I am here to help him ride.”

Tyrion. Always Tyrion. Brienne looked down at her beautiful babe, dozing while she suckled at her breast. Her little hand squeezed it reflexively, as if padding for more milk like a kitten.

Addam was watching, too, though probably his thoughts were not so pure.

“Do I not get a kiss goodbye?” he asked.

“You’re not so much as dressed!”

“Well, a good morning kiss, then?”

She tilted her face up to his, but he got down on his knees instead and placed a lingering kiss on her mouth. Pulled away and stroked his thumb on her cheek.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said. “I’ll be counting the days until I get back.”

She smiled and kissed him again.

He looked at her expectantly; he was waiting for her to say something too.

“It’s been nice,” she offered.

“’Nice’?”

Brienne shrugged. “Is there something amiss with nice?”

He sighed, then stood up and walked away. He paced for a moment, and then kicked the door on the wardrobe and it slammed. Sapphire jumped and started to cry.

“Hey!” Brienne shouted.

Addam shook his head. Held up his hand. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Brienne shushed her babe and latched her back onto the breast. She whimpered but suckled hungrily.

“What’s amiss?” she asked Addam once Sapphire was content once more.

“It’s fucking _Jaime_. What else could it be?”

Brienne sighed.

“I should stay away from him. I should stay away from all the fucking Lannisters. Every time I do anything for them, I regret it.”

“You regret it?”

“Not this. Not bedding you, of course not. But it’s always so fucking complicated.”

Brienne sighed again. It was hard to disagree.

Addam stomped about the room, finding his clothes and pulling them on angrily. Brienne watched him, thinking about last night and her conversation with Jaime.

“Can’t you stop?” she asked him. “Can you not pull away from this? Ask Tyrion to find someone else?”

“Who?”

She shrugged. “He must have people he trusts.”

“Do you not want me to come back?”

Brienne made a face. “That’s not what I meant. I just want to know how deep you’re in this.”

“I think we’re all in up to our necks.”

Brienne nodded.

“All for that miserable limping bastard in the tower, too.” Addam shook his head.

“He makes it hard to see the honour in it, doesn’t he.”

Addam pulled his tunic over his head and laced it without responding. Sat on a chair to don his boots and then his jacket and cloak.

He stood with a reluctant groan. “I shouldn’t keep my men waiting any longer; it’s a long ride to the first inn.”

Brienne stood, too, still cradling the suckling Sapphire.

He leaned up to kiss her. Held her close with a hand on her hip. “See you soon, Ser,” he whispered against her lips. Again, he seemed like he wanted to say more, but he just kissed her again and then left.

Then he was gone, bootsteps down the corridor, in the main room of her chambers and down the stairs. Brienne peered between the curtains to see him in the courtyard, calling to his men and then mounting his bay horse.

He looked up at the window where she stood as he rode off, but Brienne stood back in the shadows so he couldn’t see her.

Sapphire had grown tired of her feeding now and had unlatched from her mother’s breast to grab at the curtains, tugging on them and squealing at how they glided on the smooth rings above. Brienne couldn’t help but smile despite the heaviness of her heart. She picked her daughter up and smothered her soft round cheeks in kisses.

She carried her through into the central part of her chambers, where Bancey, Nira and Alara had laid out her breakfast and were busy sweeping up glass and picking it from the bedsheets and Sapphire’s crib.

“Good morning, Ser,” said Nira. Alara fixed her with a knowing smile.

“Good morning,” Brienne replied, taking her seat at the table and moving the cutlery and glassware from out of Sapphire’s reach. There was a steaming mug of moon tea behind her plate as well, placed there without so much as a word. Brienne was immeasurably grateful.

Bancey came over with a rattle to distract her little charge. Sapphire grabbed it and chewed the top of it eagerly.

“I’m sorry about all – all this,” Brienne said. “Ser Jaime …”

“We heard,” said Alara. “Everyone heard.”

“Oh.”

“Did he catch you with Ginger?”

“Ginger? Oh – Ser Addam. Yes, I’m afraid he did.”

“We thought so,” said Bancey with sympathy.

“It got a little ugly.”

“That happens,” Bancey said. “So long as you’re all right?”

Brienne nodded. If she was honest, it had not been that part of the evening that had been the most distressing. It had been the conversation with Jaime afterwards.

“Is Ser Jaime still in the guest chambers downstairs?”

“No, Ser,” Nira answered. “The maester took him back to the tower at first light for his medicines.”

“Very good.”

The three women exchanged looks.

“What?” asked Brienne.

Nira stepped forward. “He wrote a letter,” she said. “Limpy Lion did. Bade me give it to Ser Addam’s footman to be delivered to his brother.”

Brienne frowned. “He’s not supposed to do that. What did it say?”

“I can’t read, Ser.”

“Oh.”

“Only … I didn’t give it to the footman. I thought you would probably want to have it first. For security reasons. And now Ser Addam’s gone.”

“So he has,” Brienne noted. “Do you still have it?”

“Yes, Ser.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Sealed with a plain seal.

Brienne took it from her hand. “Thank you. Keeping the letter was wise – it was foolish of Ser Jaime to attempt contact with his brother. It could put us all at risk.”

“That’s what I thought, Ser.” Nira had a proud smile on her face.

She was one of Brienne’s most diligent students, quick to learn and physically capable too. Intelligent and thoughtful, Nira always seemed to be watching Brienne to see how to move, watching her eyes or hands or stance.

Brienne thought she might make a decent swordswoman of her yet.

She set the letter down on the table and placed her mug of moon tea on top of it, which she was quite sure disappointed her handmaids who were desperate to know what the Limpy Lion might have written after last night’s ruckus.

Brienne wasn’t ready, though. Jaime, the shitstorm that was dealing with Jaime, was something she could only take in small doses.

Instead, she ate her breakfast while Sapphire played with her rattle and her handmaids cleaned up the room. Then she washed at her bowl while Bancey took Sapphire to be bathed and dressed and stood in her gambeson and breeches while Nira and Alara strapped her into her armour.

The two women were uncharacteristically quiet, she noticed. Both of them were repeatedly glancing at the letter on the table. Brienne had no doubt that had either of them been literate then they would have read the contents at once. Her handmaids did enjoy the salacious details of her private life.

Brienne strapped her sword to her hip and neatened her hair in her looking glass while Nira and Alara cleared away the breakfast plates. They left the letter untouched on the table.

Once they had gone, Brienne picked it up. Sat down on her stripped bed.

Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it. Gritted her teeth to brace herself against something she _knew_ was going to hurt.

It took her by surprise – it wasn’t a letter at all. It was a note – and Jaime had been careful. There was nothing to say who it was to or from. There were four words, written in shambling script across the middle of the parchment.

_Please let her go._

Brienne read them. Read them again. Folded the parchment back up and then unfolded it and read them a third time.

She got up to throw it into the fire, but something made her stop. Instead, she folded the parchment into four and tucked it into her belt. But then that felt too much like a knight in a tournament, wearing his lady’s token for luck. This definitely wasn’t _that_.

She unfolded it again.

 _Please let her go_.

No.

She threw it into the fire after all – watched it burn. That piece of paper was a dangerous thing.

Was he talking about her? Of course he was – who else could he mean? The only other women here were servants and farm workers.

He wanted Tyrion to let her go.

A glimmer of honour? No. She pushed that thought out of her head, _hard._ Brienne thought she had seen honour in Jaime Lannister before, but she had been thinking with her cunt. Making excuses for a man because he was beautiful and she wanted to bed him.

She had defended his honour with everything she had, but when it had come to the time for him to take care of hers …

 _Please let her go_.

More like this was akin to the note he had left her about Sapphire. When he had begged her not to bring the babe outside because it upset him to hear her cry.

No doubt Brienne’s presence was difficult for him. Ruining his perfect fantasy about life with poor dead Cersei.

The last of the parchment in the fire withered and burned away. Brienne left her chambers and went to train her women.

It did not go well. She was distracted. Disturbed. At one point, showing Nira how to deflect a lunge, she missed her footing slightly and the stick the handmaid wielded caught her cheek. That had _never_ happened.

Nira was full of remorse and apologies, wanting to fetch the maester, wanting to get her a cold compress, put some snow on it so it didn’t swell, but Brienne reassured her that it was fine. Congratulated her on getting past her guard, even though she hadn’t. Not truly.

She left the women practising and climbed up into her watchpost in the tree. Brushed the snow from the chairs and sat down, rubbing her cheek. Already a lump was forming under the skin – no doubt there would be an impressive bruise come the morrow.

The snow had fallen thick again overnight, the only thing that marred it was the tracks made by Addam’s horses and carriage.

She had to admit that she missed him, a little. Well, not _him_ , not really, she wasn’t prepared to contemplate that she had any _feelings_. She did, after all, barely know him.

But she had to admit that going back to humping her pillow after having a flesh-and-blood man between her legs was going to be something of a disappointment.

She had missed the sex, of course, after Jaime had left, but after Jaime had left, it had been entirely different. His departure had been a heartache so all-consuming it had felt like a disease.

Weeks of it – far longer than the relationship itself had lasted. The first days, Brienne had let herself hope that he might change his mind and come riding back to her, full of grief and apologies. She could have forgiven him then, perhaps. Perhaps she would not have slept so soundly; perhaps she would have found the courage to ask him to wed her if he wished to continue bedding her, but she could have done it, she thought. Dismissed it as a moment of madness.

When she had admitted to herself that it wouldn’t happen, that had been the hardest part. The gut-wrenching emptiness, the humiliation that the man she loved had stolen from her bed in the middle of the night and hoped she wouldn’t wake when he left.

The whispers of the servants and the smallfolk in the castle. Podrick’s sympathy when all she wanted was to be stoic.

Standing behind Sansa’s shoulder while her Lady met with the maester to hear news from the battle, trembling in her armour, hand clutching Oathkeeper so hard her fingers were white.

They had taken King’s Landing. Daenerys Targaryen had purged the city with dragonfire. Cersei was dead.

Cersei was dead, and Brienne knew. She knew that meant Jaime was, too.

She had let out a sound. Half a groan and half a sob, entirely involuntary, and Lady Sansa had turned to her with murder in her eyes.

“Lady Brienne,” she had said in a voice of soft steel. “Perhaps you would like to be dismissed until you can conduct yourself with the proper decorum.”

 _Ser_ , she had wanted to remind her Lady, but her throat had closed over. She had nodded and fled the room. Ran to her chambers, ran to her privy and thrown up, the first of many times that she now suspected were the early signs of Sapphire.

Her chambers had been maddening with memories. The furs, the fire. He was there in every shadow – sitting by the fire to warm his feet, shucking his jacket by the bed and dropping it to the floor, making a pithy remark as she told him about her day.

How could Jaime be dead? He couldn’t be, not _Jaime_. The smell of him was still in the room, the feel of his warm skin still on her hands, the taste of him still on her tongue – wine and rage and Lannister. He had made Brienne of Tarth greedy and hungry and lustful, made her into something entirely new. A woman. A _real_ woman, not just a giant sow in silk, not something to laugh at and something to push aside. Something a man like him could make love to.

He’d loved her. She’d thought that he’d loved her. She’d thought they had all the time in the world for him to say it, but he’d wanted to die with Cersei more than he’d wanted to live with her.

She looked up at the tower and he was there, his shadow in the window.

Why did he always watch her? Was it envy? Did he wish he was down here training the women, feeling the flow of a sword in his hand? It wasn’t much of a purpose she had, but it was something. Better than trying to poppymilk himself to death in the arse-end of nowhere.

_Please let her go._

Those four words. Again. Rattling around in Brienne’s head like a pebble in her boot. She could see them spidering across the parchment, see the smudged ink from his twisted left hand. Why did Jaime keep watching her if he wanted her gone?

His language was so gentle, too. She would have expected _Please send her away_ or _I don’t want her here_ , but no.

_Please let her go._

What in all the hells had prompted him to send that to Tyrion? It was a big risk, one that could have potentially exposed them all. Last night he had urged her to run, but he must have known that wasn’t possible.

Even if the things he had ranted about were true …

Brienne looked at her boots at once, blinking rapidly; she felt guilty for even thinking the thought. Addam …

What could Tyrion have promised Addam? A castle, a seat on the Small Council? That was what he had done for Bronn. Was Addam so venal that would sway him? Did he have ambition enough to risk his life for it?

Brienne didn’t know him well enough to answer. And she was a poor judge of character if Jaime was anything to go by. Addam seemed so sincere, so affectionate; only this morning, he had promised he would come back sooner and for longer. And surely bedding her was counterproductive if he aimed to help Tyrion wed her to Jaime. What if she had fallen in love with him?

Ah, her rational self argued, but she was assuming these people were honourable. They were Lannisters, every one. They cheated, they lied, they twisted situations to suit their own ends.

She had given Addam every reason to think she was content to be his mistress, after all, just as she had with Jaime before him. Why would he not take advantage?

Her injured cheek throbbed in the cold now, adding to her misery.

It was ridiculous, the entire thought. A plot so massive as to overthrow a kingdom, with a king so mysteriously powerful on the throne? Tyrion would have to be stupid to think it could work. A wrong word, a wrong _thought_ , even –

More like this was a brother’s love for his brother, no matter how traitorous and idiotic that brother had been. Perhaps sending her here had been meant to make Jaime happy, an attempt to purge Cersei once and for all.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it. Jaime had a head full of Cersei; all his thoughts were _her_. He saw plots and conspiracies everywhere, thought the worst of people, was vengefully jealous and irrationally violent. All the things Brienne had heard about Cersei.

Perhaps when they had died together, the wrong soul had ended up in Jaime’s body.

She had to smile at that thought – but it wasn’t far from the truth. So determined was he to keep his twin alive that Jaime had resurrected her by becoming her. She was hateful, and so was he. And now it was like he was determined to prove it.

Bancey interrupted her thoughts by climbing into the lookout with both Sapphire and Brienne’s midday meal in her arms.

Sapphire squealed in happiness at the sight of her mother, reached out her little arms towards her.

Brienne took her daughter with a smile – truly she was the balm for all these miserable thoughts, all these terrible events. She lifted her up above her head just to hear her laugh some more, to see the joy and excitement in her brilliant blue eyes.

“That’s better,” said Bancey. “She’s been so fussy all morning – I thought it was her teeth but looks like she wanted to see her mother.”

Brienne cradled Sapphire close and kissed her cheeks. “Oh, I’ve missed you too, precious girl.”

She turned to take her seat once again, but as she did so, something caught her eye.

It was Jaime. In the window of the tower once again, but not standing back in the shadows this time. Close enough that she could see his face.

He was looking at her. At Sapphire. That same, dumb, bewildered expression on his face.

_Please let her go._

“Bancey,” she said, her eyes not leaving the tower window. “Take the watch for a moment.”

“Of course, Ser. Do you want me to take Sapphire too?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Bancey looked at Brienne, her eyes following hers. “Ser …”

“It’s fine, Bancey. Thank you.”

She climbed out of the lookout with her babe nestled over her shoulder. Walked across the yard between the rows of training women.

Jaime’s eyes were on her eyes. His mouth was slightly open. She walked towards him, towards the tower. Feet crunching in the snow.

She took hold of the door handle. Pulled it open.

Inside, the tower was light and crisp and her footsteps echoed on the stone, which made Sapphire smile. She squealed and then squealed again at the echo her own voice made.

The door to his chambers was open. Had he opened it?

Brienne approached slowly – already she could hear Jaime breathing.

He was against the far wall, almost shrunken against the brick, clutching his cane. His eyes wide beneath his wild hair. He looked like a cornered animal – terrified and small.

“If you’re going to reject her,” Brienne said, “do it now. That way she won’t remember. I won’t let you hurt her.”

He didn’t say anything. His eyes moved from hers to Sapphire.

Sapphire looked back at him. Her face broke into a huge, wide smile.

“She looks … so much like you,” he said. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Brienne nodded.

“Your smile.”

“Do you … want to hold her?”

Jaime shrank further back into the wall. “I’ve never … not with my other children …”

“Never?”

He shook his head.

“Did you want to hold them?”

“I couldn’t get too close. I couldn’t let anyone suspect.”

“No –”

“We would have all been executed.”

Brienne licked her lips. Took a breath. “That must have been very hard.”

His eyes went back to hers. He nodded, once.

“Sit down,” she told him, nodding toward his bed.

He obeyed, hugging himself with his arms. Hie eyes never leaving hers, wide and terrified.

“You have to hold her tight,” she warned him. “She wriggles.”

He nodded. Held his arms out.

Brienne sat down beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his skin through his clothes. She placed Sapphire on his lap, the babe’s big blue eyes looking between them both, from her mother to her father.

Jaime’s arms went about Sapphire awkwardly and she fussed a little, uncertain. He rocked her a bit. Shushed her softly.

She looked up at him and then reached up to grab his beard. Tugged it. A smile broke out on Jaime’s face, a smile Brienne hadn’t seen since before he rode off to die with Cersei. It was handsome and sweet and even now, even after everything that had happened, it gave her a pang so painful she almost had to run from it.

“Did I do that?” he asked.

She blinked. Blinked again. “What?” She turned to see him looking at her, his green eyes studying her intently.

“That bruise on your face. Is that from last night?”

She shook her head. “One of the handmaids. Earlier, during training.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I was distracted.”

“They’re getting better. I’ve been watching.”

She nodded. Jaime looked back to Sapphire, who was still intently exploring his beard with both of her hands.

“How does it feel?” Brienne asked him.

“Painful,” he said. “She has a knight’s grip.”

“No, I mean –”

“I know.” He looked conflicted, in pain. “I feel _guilty_.”

Brienne sighed. “Why? Cersei’s baby?”

“Yes.”

“You should have left earlier, yes? Got to Cersei sooner. Somehow talked her into leaving, saved her life and your baby’s life and you from all these injuries?”

“Brienne –”

“No, you can speak it. That’s how you feel, is it not? It’s what you wanted.”

“I –”

She shushed him. “You should never have lain with me, and you certainly should not have stayed in Winterfell for a moon.”

He looked at the floor. “No.”

“But … none of that is Sapphire’s fault, is it?” she reminded him gently. “She didn’t ask to be planted in my belly, nor for Cersei’s child to die. She’s innocent of all of this.”

“You know I’ve never cared about innocence.”

“What?”

“I’ve never really –”

“How can you say that? You, of all people. You, who wore a badge of shame like ‘Kingslayer’ all your life because you saved a city full of innocents?”

He winced. “That wasn’t –”

“It _was_.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The Mad King’s daughter burnt it in his stead.”

He looked down at Sapphire, smiling up at him.

“The Kingslayer’s daughter,” he said. “Poor babe. What has she done to deserve a father such as me? Four children already dead, one who never so much as drew a breath in this world … and _her_. You were wise not to name her Lannister – the very name is poison. It would be a curse on her.”

Brienne wanted to grab him, hold him – his face in both her hands. Tell him it was Cersei who was the poison, Cersei who brought that curse. It was every choice his twin had taken that had led to all of this, for all of them.

But she didn’t think he’d hear her. She didn’t think he’d want to know.

“I have to go,” she said. “I have a watch duty.”

“I know,” he said. “Every afternoon until supper time.”

She held her arms out and for a second, it looked as though he didn’t want to hand Sapphire back.

“You’ve met her now, anyway. I hope that gives you some peace.”

Jaime shrugged as she picked Sapphire from his lap. “Peace is … a distant memory.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Will you bring her back?” he asked. “It was … _good._ Good to see her.”

Brienne nodded, after a moment.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

Brienne nodded again. “If that’s your wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a huge and heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read and commented and engaged with this story. I have honestly never had such an overwhelmingly positive reaction to anything I've written before, and the fact it's resonating with so many people feels wonderful. It's been a challenging and complex story to write but I really really want to do it justice, particularly as it seems to have captured the mood of the fandom right now.
> 
> Special mention to my bestie and partner in crime CaptainTarthister as always. She and I have had a funny old week but we've picked each other up and we're firmly back on the horse. What a teeeeeeeam! *high fives*
> 
> If you're in the mood for teasers for this story and an in-depth analysis of chneck goodness, please follow me on Twitter on @StupidLannister. Come and say hi :)


	9. Dead Centre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne define some parameters.

Jaime being Jaime, he didn’t wait.

Brienne heard him approach just as Bancey put her breakfast plate in front of her the next day, his cane clattering on the farmhouse stairs, huffing and puffing and cursing.

Brienne’s eyes went to her handmaids. Theirs to her.

He banged on the door.

Bancey moved to open it, but Brienne shook her head and got up herself. She put Sapphire in her wet nurse’s arms and opened the door.

Jaime was there, his mouth open, his eyes nervous, looking up at her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You said I could see Sapphire.”

“Yes, but –”

“I brought breakfast.”

He pushed past her into her chamber, and she noticed he had a loaf of bread tucked under his arm.

“Bread? You brought bread?”

“Yes.” He put it down on her table and sat in the chair opposite hers with a groan. Massaging his twisted legs.

Brienne, Bancey, Nira and Alara all stared at him, wide-eyed. No one said anything.

He looked at the handmaids expectantly. “I need a plate?”

They looked to Brienne. She sighed and then nodded.

“Wine, too,” he ordered.

Brienne fidgeted for a moment, rubbing her hands on the legs of her breeches. Nira put a plate in front of Jaime and found him a goblet. Poured him a full glass of red wine which he swallowed in two gulps.

“Don’t let me keep you from your eggs,” he said to Brienne.

She sat back down, watching him with confused eyes as he hacked a lump off the loaf he had brought. She picked up her fork.

“Do you want anything else to eat, my Lord?” Nira offered. “I could go to the kitchen, see if there’s more eggs?”

He waved her away with his stump. “I’m fine.”

Sapphire grew fractious, so Brienne beckoned for Bancey to give her back. Pushed up her tunic to latch the babe onto her breast.

Jaime watched her as he cut a second clumsy lump off the side of his bread, trying to keep it steady with only his stump.

“It’s strange to see you with a babe,” he said.

“Is that so?”

“Do you know, when we were fucking, I don’t think it occurred to me that you might get pregnant.”

Brienne gaped. She put down her fork. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t seem like the motherly type.”

From the corner of her eye, Brienne saw Bancey’s hands clench on the furs she was pulling over the bedsheets.

“So you thought that meant I could not bear a child at all?!”

He shrugged and took a bite out of his bread. “I can’t say I gave it _much_ thought either way.”

Behind his back, Alara caught Brienne’s eye and made a face of exaggerated outrage. Brienne couldn’t blame her – Jaime was truly bewildering sometimes. Nira poured him some more wine, and he put down his hunk of bread to drink it down. He held out his glass for more immediately.

“How did you find out? Did you know when they raised you to the Kingsguard?”

“No. First I knew of it was when my belly wouldn’t fit in my armour,” she said. “I was all but six moons gone when I went to the maester. I’d had other signs, in retrospect, but –”

He jabbed his bread at her. “You didn’t think about it, either.”

“No,” she admitted. Though that wasn’t the whole truth; she had been distracted by her grief for _him._

“Too late for a woods witch to cleanse you, too, I suppose.”

There was an indrawn breath from every woman in the room.

A smirk quirked the corners of Jaime’s lips – he did so like to provoke a reaction. He drank deep of his wine glass again. Keeping his eyes on Brienne’s.

“Yes, it was,” Brienne said.

Jaime’s smirk disappeared. “Would – would you have – ? You mean you _tried_?”

“I was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“So?”

“So I wanted to keep my position,” she said, determined that she would not be drawn into an argument on this subject. “I was fearful of the reaction I would get from bearing your bastard – and rightly so, I might add. I was alone, unmarried and desperately grieving. A babe seemed … too much to take on.”

She looked down at Sapphire with wistful eyes. It felt strange to be talking so matter-of-factly about a time when she had wished her daughter out of existence – the very thought cut her to the bone now. But it was the truth.

“I went to see a woods witch, but she took one look at me and told me I’d left it too late by far.”

Jaime put his wine glass down. His eyes narrowed. “How about now? I hope you’re more _careful_ when you fuck Addam Marbrand?”

Brienne put her own glass down and leaned towards him over the table. “Why do you do this, Jaime?”

His eyes went wide with fear for a second. “What?”

“That. This. This thing where you poke at me until I get angry with you. Why?”

He toyed with the rim of his glass, turning the cup in his fingers. He looked like he had a hundred cutting quips on his tongue and was deciding which one would hurt her the most. “I don’t know,” he said, though. “Boredom, maybe?”

“Stop,” she said. “Please. You came here to see Sapphire, did you not?”

He scoffed. “It’s hard to see anything of her when she has her face buried in your teats. Must she?”

“She’s breaking her fast, the same as you.”

“Didn’t Tyrion give you a wet nurse?” He looked around the room as if seeing the handmaids for the first time. He jabbed a finger at Bancey. “Her?”

“We share the nursing.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m her mother! Jaime, stop it!”

He held up his hand and stump in mock surrender, the louche smirk back on his face.

“Perhaps it is a Lannister trait? Your brother does this, too.”

He chewed on his bread some more, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps it is,” he said after a moment. The smirk dropped off his face.

“It’s not one of the more pleasant ones.”

“I mean nothing by it.”

“It’s unkind.”

“Maybe I’m an unkind man.”

There had been a time Brienne would have argued with him – pointed out times he had been honourable, tried to bolster him into seeing himself differently. What was the point? She had done that many times – this was what he had chosen to be.

She was surprised by how much it hurt her, still.

“Well, I don’t want unkind men around my daughter,” she said instead. “I won’t have _her_ be that way, for all her Lannister blood.”

He looked chastened. He took another bite of his dry bread.

Brienne regarded him as she ate some more of her eggs.

“I think perhaps it would be best if we defined some parameters.”

“Parameters?!” Jaime sounded like he was about to take the piss.

“About Sapphire.”

He sighed. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?”

“You don’t ever want her to know I’m her father. So not too much affection, or closeness. No gifts on her nameday. When she’s old enough to talk, I can’t talk to her alone and I must never give her the impression that I might have any attachment to her other than that she is the bastard daughter of a loyal retainer. Would that be accurate?”

Brienne screwed up her brow. “No.”

“No?”

“You asked me if I would tell her that you were her father. I said I would not. But … I’ve since thought on it more. Reconsidered. Everyone knows I lay with you; everyone knows I bore your bastard child – at some point, someone will tell Sapphire. Someone will tell her that you are the Kingslayer, too, and that you left me for your sister. There will be no hiding from that.”

Jaime’s eyes darted to Bancey, to Nira and Alara. “So what are your parameters?”

“They’re quite simple. I don’t want you to treat Sapphire as though she was your second choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your child with Cersei.”

Jaime flinched. “Brienne …”

“No. Sapphire is the child you have; I would not have her play second fiddle to a ghost.”

“It – it wouldn’t be that way.”

“Are you certain?” She put down her fork, done with her breakfast. “So if Tyrion were to send word someday and tell you that Cersei survived, her child as well, would you not run to her and leave Sapphire behind? Forget her completely, as you did me?”

Jaime blanched. Stammered.

“If you want a relationship with her, you have to be her _father_. Every time. All the time. You have to love her and she has to love you, enough that she comes before all else. Before your memories. Your _fantasies_.”

Jaime grabbed his cane. Left his half-eaten bread on the table and got to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I – I need some time.”

“For what?”

“To think. That’s – that’s ….”

“That’s fatherhood, is it not? Self-sacrifice, unconditional love. What – did you think it easier when Cersei denied you?”

He scrambled away from the table, knocking over his chair in the process. Backed towards the door. He had that same look on his face — terror and horror – again the cornered animal.

“If you need to think about it –” Brienne spat.

Jaime made no reply. He fumbled his way out of the door, stumbled his way down the stairs and fled the farmhouse completely.

Sapphire pulled off her breast and smiled up at her mother. Brienne sighed. “I should have known he’d run the moment I mentioned his sister.”

Bancey harrumphed.

“He’s a twat,” said Alara. “Don’t bother.”

Brienne sighed again. If only it were that simple.

The rest of her morning went as her mornings usually did – armed and armoured by Nira and Alara, a training session for her women in the courtyard. Her midday meal in the lookout with Bancey and Sapphire.

It started to snow again as they finished their food and a cold wind blew in from the North. The snow turned to a blizzard, the sparring women dwindled to only a dedicated few, and the women guarding the gate and walking the walls were visibly shivering.

“Take Sapphire inside,” Brienne told Bancey after a particularly vicious gust. “It’s too cold for a babe so small. Ask Nira and Alara to find or borrow some capes or coats for the women on guard, too.”

“Of course, Ser,”

Sapphire fussed at being taken from her mother, but Bancey wrapped the babe in her cloak and she was soon grateful for the warmth of it.

Brienne watched as Bancey disappeared towards the farmhouse, surrounded by the swirling snow. She got to her own feet then, pacing the length of the lookout to keep the feeling in her feet. Then, a moment later –

“Brienne?”

Jaime’s voice, down below.

Brienne peered down the tree to see Jaime, stuck halfway up the ladder, clinging to the rungs with his cane tucked under his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to come and talk to you.”

“Have you lost your wits? You can’t climb a ladder!”

“Apparently not. Could I have a little help, do you think?”

“What? How …?”

“I’m stuck.”

Brienne had to stretch out on her belly and reach down to him with both arms to pull him up into the lookout.

“Thank you,” he said as he clambered up to the platform. He staggered up on his twisted legs, brushing his clothes of snow. “Your fat little wet nurse makes that look a lot easier than it is, with a babe and a basket in her arms too.”

He hobbled over to her chair and sat down, overbalancing it and tipping himself immediately to the floor.

Brienne rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Jaime?”

Jaime almost fell again trying to right the chair while leaning on his cane. He finally got his arse on it and sat there, rubbing his legs.

“This cold is not good,” he said. “Makes everything hurt.”

“You wanted to talk to me.”

“I did.”

“About what?”

“About what you said this morning.”

“Oh so you’ve had time to consider whether or not you’re capable of loving your baby daughter, have you?”

“Don’t be that way.”

She let out an exasperated breath.

“It’s been hard.”

“Has it.”

“Yes, I know it’s been harder for you. I’m not disputing that. But when … when that ceiling came down on us, I thought I was dead. You have to understand that. Cersei –”

“I don’t want to hear about fucking Cersei!”

He blinked in surprise. Gaped at her.

“Cersei is dead, Jaime. Dead, dead, dead, dead _dead_. Whether you choose to see it or not, that means you’re free of her. Except you’re _not_. You’re choosing to stay in the thrall of a dead woman who treated you like dirt. Whose child may not even have been yours.”

“That baby was mine!”

“Are you certain? She was to be wed to Euron Greyjoy – Sam Tarly found the beginnings of a marriage treaty between them, drafted in his desk. The child was mentioned in one of the clauses as his.”

“She _had_ to do that, didn’t she! For reasons I know you understand. What, was she supposed to have a bastard by her traitor of a brother? Openly?”

“She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!”

“I left her. Alone. Unprotected. She did what she had to do to survive, just like she always did.”

“You could have been _happy_ , Jaime. We could have been.”

He closed his eyes.

Her tears started again then, the same great ugly sobs she had sobbed in the courtyard of Winterfell the night he rode away. Unbidden. Unstoppable. Only this time, he was trapped. He’d have to break his neck getting out of the lookout before he could escape her.

Instead, surprisingly, he took hold of her hand. Squeezed her fingers and held them against his chest. “What could we have done?” he asked softly. “Stayed in Winterfell forever? Gone to Tarth? Had our hands bound before a Septon, given your father some heirs?”

Brienne sobbed harder.

“That’s not me. That’s not _us_. We’d have been bored to tears. Your father would have hated me and I would have made it worse. _You_ would have hated me, after a while.”

“No …”

“We should have died. In that battle, both of us – saving the Seven Kingdoms side by side. Fighting with you – back to back …” He chuckled. “Hells, that was better than the sex, was it not?”

He pulled her close, into an awkward embrace, her in her armour and him unsteady on his feet and oh, Gods – the smell of him, his familiar warmth … she wanted to lean into him, take his lips with hers, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, take him to her bed and hold him while the snow swirled outside, naked and warm and _wanting_ …

“I love you,” he said. “I truly do. I wish I was the man you thought I was. I wish the things you’d seen in me were truly there.”

Right then she almost said she didn’t care, that she’d have him, wicked and hateful and broken and lost. Anything. It didn’t matter if he was always mourning Cersei, she’d have whatever scraps he gave her, just to be in his arms again.

But Sapphire …

Sapphire.

She pushed him away, weeping and panting and painfully aroused. He was, too – his cock tented his breeches and his eyes were dark and half-lidded.

He rocked on his feet and grabbed for his cane. Looking up at her with those same fearful eyes.

“That’s not what I came here to say.” His voice was almost hoarse. The muscles in his neck were tense and strained.

Brienne wiped away a glob of her snot with the back of her hand.

“I wanted to say that you have me all wrong. Sapphire is not my second choice,” he said. “I swear it. The truth is, she’s the first thing to make me feel anything good since – well, since I didn’t die.”

She stared at him.

“I want that. I want to remember how to feel alive again. Even – even if it means leaving Cersei behind.”

Brienne sniffled. “Tr-truly?”

Jaime nodded. “Sapphire … when I felt her in my arms, when she looked up at me with your big blue eyes and – and she put her hands in my beard …”

He looked away, out at the snow falling on the forest over the thick stone walls.

“I want to be her father,” he said, looking back at Brienne with his green eyes strong and sure. “I want to deserve that. I want her to be the reason I survived.”

Brienne stared at him in utter shock.

“If you’ll let me.”

She nodded. “I’ll – I’ll bring her to see you. When my watch ends, before supper. She might be a little tired, and she’s teething, so …”

“That’s fine. Of course.” Jaime shifted so his cloak covered his manhood, though he must have seen how flushed she was.

“But we can do it … every day. We’ll – we’ll find a time.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded his head, almost deep enough to be a bow, and turned for the ladder.

“You may have to help me get down without breaking my neck.”

Brienne climbed down before him and helped him take each rung one at a time. Took his arm to help him across the icy courtyard to the tower.

When she came back, Alara waited for her by the lookout, a bundle of coats and cloaks in her arms. She held Brienne’s out to her and she wrapped it about herself gratefully. The handmaid didn’t move to hand out the rest.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“I wanted to talk to you, Ser,” said Alara.

“Of course.”

“About Limpy Lion,” the handmaid continued. “And you.”

“Oh.”

“He’s sniffing around you, isn’t he. Since he’s seen you with Ginger.”

“No!”

“He is. Begging your pardon, Ser, but he _is_.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I know his kind. You said he was the jealous type – I can see that. He wants you to be where he wants you.”

Brienne was confused. “What do you mean?”

“He likes it when you’re angry with him. When he thinks you’re pining over him. The minute he thinks you’re moving on, he drops in to chuck you some crumbs. As I said, I know his kind. He doesn’t want you, but he doesn’t want you to want anyone else, either.”

Brienne’s face fell. “He’s … he’s Sapphire’s father.”

“Sorry, Ser. But has he ever wanted to know her? Truly? Until now?”

“No. No, he hasn’t.”

“Please be careful, Ser. Ginger’s a nice fellow, sweeter to you than Limpy Lion with his glass-throwing tantrums.”

But was he? Wasn’t Addam just Tyrion’s puppet, manoeuvring her into place? Taking the imp’s coin to ensure she provided the Lannisters with an heir one way or another? Brienne sagged against the ladder, feeling like the air was being drained from her. Like she was collapsing in on herself.

 _Jaime_ had told her about Addam and Tyrion – insinuated it at least. Had he planted doubt and suspicion in her mind to keep her from getting too close?

“This is too difficult,” she said at last. Rubbing her tear-stained cheeks with her hands. “Everything was so much simpler when I was a maid …”

“That’s what cock does, Ser,” Alara commiserated. “Cock complicates everything. Robs you of your honour and your good sense all at once.”

Brienne was forced to agree. “Thank you, Alara,” she said. “I’ll – I’ll be careful. Ser Jaime is … well, I know what he’s capable of.”

“You’ve been good to us women, Ser. Made us your squires, taught us a lot. I don’t want to see Limpy Lion hurt you.”

Brienne squeezed Alara’s shoulder. “Get those coats handed out. We can’t have our little army freeze to death, can we.”

She climbed back up into the lookout, to watch over the frozen roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge apologies to everyone who commented on the previous chapter. I really haven't been well these last couple of weeks and I lacked the energy to write replies. I will hopefully do better with this chapter. Please do keep them coming, I love to read everyone's very insightful and interesting thoughts on where things are going.
> 
> Shoutout as always to CaptainTarthister for her brilliant friendship, love and support. Her endless enthusiasm, ideas and thoughts on the plot are what drives this story forward. I am infinitely richer for having someone so wonderful in my life.
> 
> The Brienne Without Jaime playlist, compiled by a very kind reader, has been updated with new tracks for the last two chapters. Please do check it out and subscribe if you'd like some mood music while you read. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1jWvNX9PrbT6ELvgPSvBRx?si=3_v79DiKSG2yN9aTEgPR2w
> 
> Also, if you'd like to see some cheeky advance teasers for this story as I write, then please come follow me on Twitter @StupidLannister. I do a lot of Season 8 ranting and a lot of Braime lusting too. Come and say hi!


	10. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months later, Jaime and Brienne have an uneasy truce.

Jaime had his tongue inside her. Brienne groaned and arched against the pillows.

His mouth on her cunt was as it always had been – slow, deliberate, worshipful. Warm and wet and making her quiver and throb with desire. He built her climax slowly, prolonged it so he could keep his face between her thighs as long as possible.

His tongue made love to her clit until she felt like she was drowning. Drowning in pleasure so intense it was an actual ache. Gods, Jaime was good with his mouth.

Somehow, there was a cock inside her, too. Addam’s cock. Long and thick and warm and filling her, thrusting in the perfect counterpoint to Jaime’s tongue.

She reached for both men, but their bodies eluded her. She could feel them, though. Both of them, their hot panting breath, their sweat-slick skin, Jaime’s beard and Addam’s stubble. Their beating hearts. One above her and one below, both of them fucking her, both at once.

She was going to come. The sensations swamped her, her feet tingling, her toes curling, both hands grabbing empty air. She just wanted to hold them, hold someone, have them hold her.

Brienne woke with a start to the darkness of her bedchamber, gasping and panting and slick between the legs. Mad with the urge to come.

Groaning when she realised she had been dreaming.

She pulled a pillow from the space beside her and rolled on top of it, rubbing her hot, slick sex against the soft golden embroidery. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Addam’s cock. Jaime’s tongue … both at once.

The thought was exhilarating.

Her climax hit her in a blinding wave in a matter of seconds; she had to bury her face in her own pillow so her cries didn’t wake Sapphire. Then she collapsed in a pile of undignified sweaty flesh, basking in the diminishing waves of pleasure.

It had been two moons since Addam had left. Despite his ardent promise that he would return quickly and stay for a week, there had been no sign of him. She started to wonder if Tyrion had found him some pretty young maid to marry after all.

And Jaime ...

Well, Jaime was complicated. When was he not? But the two of them had settled into an uneasy routine, one where the bridge between them was Sapphire.

Some days, Jaime would break his fast in Brienne’s chambers, spoon-feeding Sapphire now she was on mashed-up solid food alongside her mother’s milk. Some days Brienne would bring Sapphire to his rooms during her midday meal and he would play with the babe – sitting beside her on the floor while she waved her rattles and chewed her blocks and slowly, steadily, figured out crawling.

During these encounters, Brienne kept her distance from Jaime. She spoke only minimally and factually and didn’t engage whenever he made attempts to goad her into a verbal spar, which he frequently did. She was there so that Sapphire might see her father, nothing more.

Nor did she consent to leave Sapphire alone with him. Not ever. Quite aside from the danger that his fits posed, not to mention his unsteady legs, his single hand and his total lack of experience caring for a child, the thought made Brienne feel uncomfortable. No one save she and Bancey had ever cared for Sapphire. He might be her father, but he had never parented her.

Brienne got up from her bed, still sweaty and trembling from her climax, and looked out of the window.

Outside, all seemed calm – she could see the figures of the two women on gate duty, and the two others in the lookout. It had not snowed for close to a fortnight and what snow there was in the courtyard was little more than dirty slush. Candlelight burned in the window of the maester’s room in the tower, but Jaime’s was dark.

Nothing was amiss – but Brienne felt unsettled nonetheless.

She used the privy and then washed at her bowl, uncertain how close it was to dawn, but knowing she wouldn’t sleep any more that night. She took her shift off and dressed in a clean tunic and breeches and found Sapphire some clothes and a napkin for when she woke, too.

After she had finished, she lit a few candles and read her book – a dry tome borrowed from Maester Smallwood on the subject of battlefield wound treatment. Always useful knowledge to have for a knight, she thought. Perhaps she could pass the knowledge on to some of the women too, if the maester himself was not keen to teach.

If it came to a fight …

If it came to a fight, they would all die, Brienne thought. The women had no chance without any swords or armour save for the seven jerkins Bancey had managed to sew while she was on lookout. Maybe the maester might have some books on blacksmithing?

She got up again to pace the floor and ended up looking out of the window again. Nothing had changed in the yard, but there was candlelight now in Jaime’s window too.

Shadows moved about behind the curtains - probably he had had another fit. Probably the maester and the boys were tending to him.

Even now … _still_ , Brienne had an urge to rush to his side. Make sure he was all right; guard him with her life. Old vows died hard.

Indeed, once the sun came up and the handmaids came in to serve breakfast, they arrived with a note from the maester to say that Jaime would not be attending that morning. It was not a surprise, and if she was honest, Brienne found herself somewhat relieved.

He was still difficult company, with his mercurial moods and his sharp tongue. His drinking, too – Jaime could easily put away a flagon of ale or wine over the course of the meal. She never knew if he was going to be snappy or soppy with her, but at least he was consistent with Sapphire.

He was always pleased to see the babe – full of smiles and affection and cuddles and kisses. She seemed to light him up and he delighted in her, talking endlessly about her facial expressions or how well she was eating. It was beautiful to see, but it was difficult, as well.

Too close to what could have been.

In the yard after her breakfast, Brienne resumed the training she had started a couple of weeks ago – siege tactics. Showing the women how to shore up the gates, how to defend the walls. How to dig trenches and fill them with stakes.

The latter was slow, arduous work with so few of them – so far they had managed to dig only two ten-foot trenches in the frozen ground outside the walls. Barely a dent.

A few days past, Brienne and Darlyne, the tavern wench that Nira had brought to the squad, had felled some smaller trees at the edge of the forest to make the stakes, but these sat piled in the yard waiting for Brienne to work out how to cut them into shape.

They had also erected two platforms, high on the walls, using what remained of the dilapidated barn in the fields. It was from there that Brienne dictated today’s session – a drill in how to drop rocks on enemies attempting to scale the walls.

The rocks, too, had been gathered from the forest yesterday – Bancey had led a convoy of the women with carts and barrows out there. Once the rocks were collected, the women spent some hours wheeling their heavy cargo through the slush and back to the farm. Today was the day they put them to good use.

Brienne organised them into teams, one for each of the new platforms. She put the strongest women at the top – Darlyne and Selsa the cook, who neared her fiftieth nameday but thanks to a lifetime of moving pots and pans from one side of a kitchen to the other had beaten Brienne in an arm wrestle a fortnight back.

The rest of the women formed a chain, passing the rocks up the ladder.

Darlyne and Selsa took it in turns to duck below the line of the walls, grab a rock from the person at the top of the ladder and then jumped up to throw it down on the heads on the imaginary invaders.

They picked the lesson up quickly, and Brienne was pleased. The women worked well as a team – they all knew and liked one another, and they all seemed enthused to try their hand at things they had never done before. By the end of the session, she was watching a smooth operation.

The reality, she knew though, would be very different. Panic would set in; they would be under assault from all directions. Likely the enemy would have archers, and then Darlyne and Selsa would fall in moments. Brienne hoped she could at least find them something that would pass as a helmet.

The problem was that none of these women had seen anything remotely close to a battle. None of them had killed a man, or seen anyone killed in front of them. Watching their friends fall, be wounded, watching them die horribly was not something Brienne could adequately prepare them for.

She felt like shit.

It had been abstract at first, teaching her squad how to swing sticks and spar with each other. No more difficult than training Podrick had been. But now, as they prepared for the sort of enemy they would likely face should Jaime be discovered, the task had become far more sobering. The thought of sending Nira or Alara or Bancey against armed men, throwing their lives away to defend Jaime, weighed heavily.

Bancey came out of the farmhouse with Sapphire and Brienne’s food basket just as they were wrapping up the exercise, re-gathering the stones from outside and storing them in barrels at the bottom of the ladders.

“Will you be on lookout this afternoon, Ser?” Bancey asked, nodding towards the tree.

Brienne shook her head. “I will lunch with Ser Jaime, since he missed breakfast.”

Sapphire reached out her arms for her mother and Brienne took her from Bancey and kissed her plump little cheeks all over, glad to have the happy distraction from her dark thoughts. Even the prospect of an hour in the same room as Jaime felt less oppressive because of Sapphire.

She carried her babe up into the tower – there was, as always, a boy standing guard outside Jaime’s door. He looked quite stressed – his eyes were red and full of moisture. He looked away from Brienne and blinked rapidly. She knocked tentatively on Jaime’s door.

“What?” Jaime yelled, sounding irritable.

Brienne pushed the door open. Poked her head inside. Despite the late hour, Jaime was still abed, his candles still lit and the curtains half drawn.

“Oh, it’s _you_ ,” he said. So he was in _that_ mood, was he?

Brienne turned on her heel without saying a word. Closed the door behind her.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard his door slam open again, heard the clatter of his cane on the stone floor.

“Come back!” he shouted after her. “Brienne! I’m – I’m sorry.”

She stopped. Looked above her to where Jaime looked down from the top of the stairwell, his long hair fallen half over his face where he didn’t have an ear to tuck it behind.

“I just quarrelled with the maester,” he said with a glare at the boy standing guard. “I’m not in the best of moods. I didn’t mean that to sound quite so – so _sharp_.”

She stared at him. Sapphire shouted in the stairwell, a delighted squeal to hear the sound of the echo.

“I want to see you. I mean, I want to see Sapphire. Please.”

Brienne turned around and went back up the stairs.

He hobbled through the door of his chamber and went to pull the curtain open. The room was a mess, clothes on the floor, discarded bottles and glasses, last night's meal still on the table. Jaime himself didn’t look much better – he was only in his smallclothes, and he had an ugly cut on his forehead and a long black bruise on the right side of his ribcage.

He caught her looking and shrugged. “I’ve had five fits overnight.”

Brienne wrinkled her brow. “What did you quarrel with the maester about?”

“He wants one of the boys to stay with me. In the room, all the time.”

“It might stop you from hurting yourself.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid!” he shouted. Then he took a breath, remembering he had already apologised for being sharp with her. “I don’t. It’s bad enough having to live up here, with the maester right next door. Having to have one of the boys outside the room most of the time. But with one of them in here … I couldn’t take a shit; I couldn’t tug my cock, I couldn’t so much as look out of the window without explaining what I’m doing. He just wants them to spy on me because he thinks I’m drinking too much.”

“You _are_ drinking too much.”

“I’m a grown man of eight-and-forty. That’s for me to decide, don’t you think?”

Brienne shrugged.

“I told him his services were no longer required,” Jaime boasted.

“He left?”

Jaime scoffed. “You were out there, did you see him leave? No. He reminded me that my brother paid him his coin, not me.”

Brienne almost laughed.

“Arrogant cunt,” Jaime said. “Tyrion has probably promised him he can be Grand Maester when I’m on the throne.”

It was the first time he had mentioned that since the night he had caught her and Addam in the bath. The first indication Brienne had that he still thought it was true.

He stomped about the room, trying to find some breeches he hadn’t soiled during his fits in the night. He was unsuccessful, so he threw a tunic on instead, one that covered him almost to his knees.

“Would you like me to send one of the handmaids up here?”

“What for?” He looked alarmed.

“To clean. To wash your clothes.”

“I manage.”

He did, usually. But five fits in a single night was an excessive number, even for him. He looked pale and exhausted. “Just today, then?”

He nodded, but he looked sour and ungrateful about it.

Brienne sat Sapphire down on the rug, fetching the pillows from Jaime’s bed to place around her. She had been sitting up unaided for some weeks now and had even made some strides into learning to crawl, but she was still quite prone to falling on her face if she overreached for a toy.

Jaime eased himself slowly down onto the rug with Sapphire, folding his twisted legs beneath him and picking up a rattle to shake for her amusement. His face broke out in a big smile straight away when Sapphire grabbed for it.

Brienne backed away, clearing herself space at his table to eat her midday meal. Inside the basket, Bancey had packed some cheese and eggs, and a couple of slices of bread covered in honey. Brienne tucked in, looking out of the window to watch Nira and Darlyne spar with a couple of serving spoons in the yard below.

“Where was she born?” Jaime said suddenly. Startling Brienne out of her thoughts. Normally, he didn’t try to talk to her.

“What?”

“Sapphire. Were you still in King’s Landing? She wasn’t born in the White Sword Tower, surely?”

Brienne shook her head. “I was gone from the Kingsguard within a week once I told of my pregnancy. Just enough time to write my entry in the White Book and be rejected by my father.”

Jaime made a soft noise that was too low to interpret.

“I used my retirement pay to get a billet on the outskirts of the city. She was born there.”

“Oh,” he said. He looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Were you alone?”

“I wasn’t fucking Addam Marbrand if that’s what this is about?”

“No! No … were you alone when you were in childbed?” He looked like the thought hurt him.

Brienne screwed up her brow in confusion. “Some of the time. It went on for a long time.”

“How long?”

“A day and a half, thereabouts. I was by myself for the first part, but I hired a woods witch to deliver her. And Pod. Podrick was there at the end.”

Jaime let out a sound that was almost a chuckle. “That’s quite a squire.”

“Podrick isn’t a squire. He’s a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Brienne turned away, back to her food. She was not going to get drawn into a conversation with Jaime. Certainly not about something like this.

“I was there when all my children came into the world,” he said after a while. “All except Sapphire.”

She looked back at him, but he was looking at Sapphire with sad eyes.

“You could have been there,” Brienne said. “If you hadn’t left me.”

His eyes flicked back to her. They were wide and full of pain. “I know.”

Brienne shook her head. She did not want to talk about it – this conversation would just hurt too much. “Tell me something, Jaime.”

“Of course.”

“Tyrion’s plot. This one he has to put you on the throne. It’s real, yes? You know this for a fact?”

“No. But I know my brother.” He paused, looking her right in the eyes. “Addam too.”

“Addam … has that sort of ambition?”

“Did you not ask him about it before he left?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to accuse a man of treason on the word of someone who had just thrown a wine glass at my face.”

Jaime looked away. “Fair enough.”

He waved Sapphire’s rattle for her, making her giggle and reach for it. Encouraging her to try crawling.

“Why did you fuck him, Brienne?” he said without looking up. “That really surprised me, you know.”

“Why would I not?”

“I don’t know. Because you could do better?”

“Because I had a Lannister, you mean?”

“Yes. House Marbrand is …”

Brienne scoffed. “Stop it, Jaime. That’s ridiculous.”

“You did it to make me jealous, yes? To rub it in my face that other men want to fuck you?”

Brienne sighed. “Honestly. Is that what you think? That’s such a moronic, simplistic reading of what happened, do you know that?”

Jaime looked sour.

“You’re pathetic sometimes.”

“Am I wrong?”

“It wasn’t about _you_. This may come as a shock, but not everything I do has something to do with Jaime Lannister.”

“Why do it, then? You never fucked anyone before me, not _anyone_ in near forty years. Suddenly you jump into bed with my bannerman?”

“I didn’t jump anywhere. You left me near a year before, for most of which I thought you dead. If you recall, I took a vow of celibacy in that time, as well.”

“I understood that. The Kingsguard thing. _That_ makes sense, that’s more Brienne.”

“Why? Surely while we were together, you saw that I am a woman capable of love? Of sex? Or did you think me only capable of them with you? I assure you, you were not the only man I ever had feelings for in my life.”

“What _… Renly Baratheon_?” Jaime laughed.

“Yes. I loved him. It wasn’t reciprocated, but I loved him. Does that not count?”

“It was a child’s crush!”

“Oh, the Lannister ego! Do you not hear yourself? So I can’t possibly have loved anyone before you, and you quite fancy that you had ruined me for every man after, as well.”

Jaime tried to laugh that off, but she saw the truth of it in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t meekly and chastely pining for you for all eternity, Jaime. But I’m no maid any more; Sapphire is proof of that for all to see. I have no need to uphold my honour there. Nor for the sake of Tarth – my cousin Trevas has that responsibility now.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “ _The Kingslayer’s Whore._ It hurt. It still does – the injustice of it. I was not your whore, not ever. I loved you, and I would have been your wife had you wanted me. But you didn’t, and I’ve paid the price; no amount of denial or self-chastisement will bring my honour back. So tell me, why should I not bed a man if I want to? Just for the pleasure of it, or possibly because I might wish to fall in love again?”

He had no answer for that. He just looked miserable as he played with Sapphire. Brienne went back to eating, though her appetite had all but left her now.

It was some minutes later that he spoke again.

“I don’t have any proof,” he said. “I’ve been in this room for the better part of a year and a half, as you know. I haven’t seen my brother nor heard from him once. Aside from the boys and the maester, Addam Marbrand has been my only visitor.”

Brienne looked at him and for a moment, he looked like the Jaime of old. Trying to tell her something, wanting her to trust him, but not having the words to convince her.

“I still have my instincts,” he said. “This is more than just a brother saving a brother’s life. There’s more to it.”

“If it’s true, he’ll get us all killed.” Her eyes went to Sapphire. Not wanting to say it out loud. “ _All_ of us.”

Jaime swallowed. Pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Do you want the throne, Jaime?”

“ _Gods_ , no! How can you even ask me that?”

“But you’re going to sit here and let all these people die for you? All these women. Me. Sapphire?”

“What could I do to stop it? I mean – _look_ at me. What do you want me to do? Take up arms out there with your womenfolk? I can barely walk.”

“I don’t know. _Something_. Stop it from happening. Stop Tyrion.”

“Again … _how_? It’s not like I can speak to him, is it? I’m forbidden from writing to him, even if I disguise who it’s from. And do you think he’d listen?”

“What if you revealed yourself? Threw yourself on the King’s mercy?”

“I’d get my brother killed.”

Brienne scoffed.

“And … what if I’m wrong?” He looked sadly at Sapphire. “Maybe this _is_ just Tyrion trying to … I don’t know. _Help_ me.”

“What about your instincts?”

“What of them? My mind barely feels like my own some days; it’s not implausible that my instincts are deceiving me. I accept that.”

They fell into silence again.

“ _You_ could do something, though. Take Sapphire. Run North, run to Essos.”

She stared at him, that pathetic scrawled note he had tried to smuggle to Tyrion going through her head. _Please let her go_.

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t even know where I am.”

He shrugged. “I could tell you.”

“How would I get there? How would I feed us on the way? Can you imagine trying to hunt or set traps with a babe in tow?”

“Take your women with you.”

“Then who would defend you?” she asked, her throat thick. “I swore a vow.”

He rolled his eyes. “You and your bloody vows. Am I worth defending? Even at the cost of our daughter’s life?”

Brienne flinched. _Our daughter_. He’d never said that before.

“Please, Brienne,” he said. “Think on it.”

Out of the window, she saw her afternoon group of trainees gathering in the courtyard. Had it been so long already?

“I should go,” she told him. She picked Sapphire up from the floor, wrapping her in her shawl once more, making sure her little head was covered securely by her bonnet. She held her warm body close and breathed that sweet, perfect scent. “I’ll send Nira up to help you clean.”

He nodded, struggling to rise from the floor with his cane. His eyes dark under the fall of his hair, his bare legs like twisted sticks as he hobbled to his bed. He shook with pain.

“Send the maester too,” he groaned. “I need some milk of the poppy.”

She agreed, but Maester Smallwood wasn’t in his room as she passed. No doubt he had gone somewhere to cool off after his quarrel with Jaime.

Brienne couldn’t blame him – no matter how much coin had been thrown his way by the Imp, Jaime was not an easy patient to care for. It must get tiresome.

The thought flew from her mind, though, as she left the tower to see the women opening the gates. Brienne’s heart leapt into her mouth as she saw Addam’s carriage come through.

It drew to a stop in the middle of the yard, the horses all wild-eyed and sweating. The women closed the gates behind. Addam’s footman, the one Alara had bedded, dismounted his horse.

“Ser Brienne,” he said with a bow.

Brienne looked over his shoulder, trying to see Addam, but neither he nor his horse were there.

“Where is Ser Addam?” she asked.

“He was detained in the capital,” said the footman.

Brienne looked at the man, saw that he was not his usual immaculate self. Addam himself dressed well, and typically his men did, too. The footman was missing his jacket, and his cloak was dirty, his long hair undone.

“What has happened?” she asked, shifting Sapphire to her hip. Something about this worried her.

“Ser Addam wanted to depart King’s Landing more than a moon ago,” the footman told her. “But we kept being delayed, one thing and another. Then finally we got word in the middle of the night that we were to leave without delay. Didn’t so much as have time to pack a bag.”

Brienne felt her brow furrow.

“Only – at the last second, one of Lord Tyrion’s men came for Ser Addam. Bade him come to the keep with all urgency. My Lord went with him, and he told me not to wait. I had hoped he would catch up with us on the road, but as yet he has not.”

Brienne swallowed.

“I’m sure he won’t be far behind,” the footman said. “He was keen to come back and see you, Ser.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Please – take your room. I will have my handmaid draw you a bath and bring you a hot meal.”

“Many thanks, Ser.” He bowed his head. “But Ser Addam … he sent you something. I suspect it was why he sent me on ahead, to ensure it reached you.”

“What?”

“Here.”

The man beckoned Brienne to follow him to the door of the carriage. He undid the catch and flung it open.

Brienne gasped.

Inside, packed in crates stuffed with straw, was armour. Breastplates, pauldrons, helms. And swords as well.

Enough to give one to each of her women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone for your wonderful comments, I continue to be endlessly overwhelmed by how much positivity this story has gathered. Reading all your thoughts and ideas really makes me so happy.
> 
> Particular thanks to my Braime life-partner CaptainTarthister for sharing this crazy ride with me. She's just the most brilliant and the most beautiful and I am endlessly appreciative of her friendship and support. She hugs me when I need hugs and slaps me when I need slaps. Everyone should have a friend like her.
> 
> If you have a need for some music while you read, please do check out the Brienne Without Jaime playlist, created and maintained by a very kind reader. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1jWvNX9PrbT6ELvgPSvBRx?si=3_v79DiKSG2yN9aTEgPR2w
> 
> Those of you who follow me on Twitter will know that I have decided to split this story into two parts. If you notice I have updated the chapter count to 12 here - that will represent the split, so there is definitely more than two chapters to go.
> 
> If you want to follow me on Twitter and get updates, teasers etc, I am @StupidLannister. Come and say hi!


	11. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take an unexpected turn.

The afternoon’s training session changed tack very quickly – now it was about teaching the women how to use their new equipment. How to put the armour on, how to keep the swords clean and sharp, how to wield them.

Naturally, the women were keen to spar with their new weapons, and soon the yard was full of the sound of steel-on-steel. It sounded good. Strong. For a moment, Brienne let herself believe that it might make a difference.

Above her, Jaime watched, his forlorn face pressed against his tower window. He was there until Maester Smallwood had mellowed enough from their argument to go and see him again. After that, Brienne didn’t see Jaime at all – she suspected the maester had given him an extra-large dose of dreamwine to keep him quiet for the rest of the day.

Overall, Brienne was pleased. The swords were of good quality, and the women adapted well to using them in place of their sticks and pokers and kitchen implements. She went inside to dinner happy with their progress.

After she had eaten, her handmaids drew her a bath, and she took Sapphire into the water with her to splash and play.

“Where’s Ginger?” asked Alara as Brienne soaped Sapphire’s golden curls. The babe had managed to rub much of her mashed carrot into her hair during dinner. “Did he not come in with his carriage?”

Brienne bit her lip. “No. Your friend – the footman – he said Ser Addam was delayed in the capital.”

“Kerith? Oh, that’s a shame, Ser. I bet you were looking forward to getting your fancy tickled.”

Brienne laughed. “It _is_ a shame. I … I hope he’s on his way.”

Alara smiled a knowing smile.

“He wouldn't stay away long,” said Bancey from the bed, where she was laying out Brienne’s sleeping shift. “He likes you, that one.”

Brienne shrugged. “It’s been two moons. Although Kerith did say he’d tried to come sooner.”

She tried to keep the worry out of her voice. Her conversation with Addam’s footman had raised numerous questions. Questions she had no way of answering; questions she didn’t want to worry her handmaids with.

Everyone was so excited about their new armour and weapons. No one had stopped to think what they might mean.

“Where’s Nira tonight?” she asked, suddenly aware she hadn’t seen the mousy little handmaid since afternoon training.

Alara chuckled. “Getting _her_ fancy tickled. Seeing Darlyne all togged up like y— well, in armour and the like … it gave her the courage to make her move.”

Brienne grinned.

“Looks like I’d better pay a visit to Kerith,” Alara said ruefully. “Not like I’ll be able to sleep a wink if I go back to my own room.”

Bancey laughed. “She’s loud when she’s laying is Nira.”

Alara agreed. “Not so loud as Ser Screamer over here of course.” She jerked her head in Brienne’s direction. “But enough to keep me awake.”

Brienne blushed to the bathwater. “I – I don’t _scream_!” she protested, concentrating desperately on rinsing Sapphire’s hair out.

“Oh, you _do_ , Ser!” Alara teased. “We can hear you from the servants’ quarters.”

“Gods! Truly? I – I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Ginger gives it to you good, right? Got to let him know.”

The blush burned brighter on Brienne’s cheeks. She couldn’t help but remember how Addam felt between her legs, the skill and surety of his touch. She wasn’t sure about her feelings towards him, particularly after Jaime’s tale, but gods, he made her feel good when she bedded him.

“That’s what it’s about, isn’t it?” she said, half thinking aloud.

“What, Ser?”

Brienne shook her head. “Something Ser Jaime said to me today. He asked me why I’d waited near forty years before I bedded a man and then bedded the next only a year later.”

“Oh, Limpy Lion,” Bancey said with a snort. “Always the jealous cunt.”

“I know,” Brienne laughed. “But, he made me think. I’ve never thought of myself as an attractive woman and … well, because of that, it seemed natural that I was still a maid at near forty.”

Finally satisfied that she had Sapphire’s hair clean, she sat the babe on her lap to soap her little body, smiling at the way her daughter splashed and played.

“But, when I think about it, men _have_ wanted me. Not always for the most honourable of reasons, but I’ve had chances. Some of the men in Renly Baratheon’s war camp made a bet over who could take my maidenhead. And when I served in the North, there was a Wildling …”

“Ooh, a Wildling?” Alara’s eyes lit up.

Brienne winced. “That’s not as enticing as all that, believe me. But … there have been chances. So why didn’t I take them? Why Jaime?”

“Because you loved him, Ser. Or thought you did.”

“Why, though? Because he was _beautiful_. I saw the honour in him, in all his actions, because I wanted him. Because I was thinking with my cunt.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself, Ser,” said Bancey. “He was kind to you, wasn’t he?”

Brienne shrugged. “He saved my life. More than once. He gave me a sword, armour, and a quest. He knighted me. And … he gazed into my eyes so many times with this _look_ … oh, I can’t describe it. It was intense – physical almost, if that makes sense? But it was a look I thought I understood.”

She gazed down sadly at Sapphire.

“But when we came together, the first time, after the battle in Winterfell, when we finally were _together_ … it wasn’t right.”

“How do you mean?” asked Bancey in a gentle voice.

“It wasn’t _us_. I’d always imagined that we’d talk about it first. Admit our feelings or something, or that it would happen because we couldn’t resist that _look_ any longer. But it wasn’t like that at all.”

“What was it like, Ser?” Alara asked. Always one for the juicy details.

“He got me drunk! Well, he kept pushing me to drink more. Talked me out of stopping, played a drinking game. Brought more wine to my chamber. His brother teased me about my maidenhead and he didn’t stop him or defend me or even apologise for Tyrion’s ungentlemanly behaviour. In fact, it seemed to worry him that I _might_ have been with another man.”

Bancey and Alara shared a knowing look.

“I know,” Brienne said. “He wanted to get there first. That’s what it felt like, if I’m honest. The whole thing was clumsy and rushed and – and it _hurt_ , a little. Then as soon as he’d squirted his seed inside me he regretted it, I could tell. Or something – he was very quiet and very pensive.”

“Thinking of his sister.”

“Probably. He didn’t want to talk or hold me and I didn’t know any better and I didn’t know what to say so … I went to sleep. Jaime was still there in the morning and he wanted me again then, so …”

“He stayed?”

“For a moon. Living in my chamber. Sleeping in my bed. We made love every night, and he asked for permission to stay from the Lady of Winterfell. I took that to mean he had feelings for me, and …”

She trailed off with a sigh. This was a hard thing to admit.

“Things were better than the first night, but they were never what I thought they could have been.”

“Sounds like he was a bit of a disappointment,” said Alara.

Brienne nodded. “It hurts because I think we could have been so much more. Maybe at another time, in a different way … something like that.”

Bancey came over to embrace her, cradling her wet head against her impressive bosom. “You got Sapphire, Ser. It was worth it just for her.”

Brienne smiled, but there were tears in her eyes, as well. Jaime …

She finished washing the babe and then lifted her out into Bancey’s waiting arms before stepping out herself to towel dry. Sapphire squealed and giggled as the rough towel tickled her tummy and then spent some minutes playing with her toes, trying to get them into her mouth.

Brienne watched fondly as she slipped into her sleeping shift and brushed her tangled wet hair into some sort of order.

Bancey brought Sapphire over to kiss her mother goodnight and then took her downstairs to settle her to sleep.

Brienne bade both handmaids a fond goodnight and then went to bed herself. Blew out her candles and was asleep very soon after.

She awoke to darkness, thinking for a moment that Sapphire had cried. She didn’t know the hour, but it was pitch black.

“Brienne!” a voice said from the shadows.

Addam’s voice.

“A-Addam?”

Then he was on her. A rush of warmth and breath and skin and hair. Seeking her mouth blindly with his, crushing her body against his, hard.

She gasped in shock but responded in kind, grasping him to her, sliding her tongue in his mouth, seeking his. He had ridden here hard, she could tell – his cheeks were unshaven and he smelled like sweat and horse. Not at all his immaculate self.

His body was tense beneath her hands, taut and hard, but when she touched him, pulled him closer, he relaxed a little with a capitulating sigh. His hands were urgent – tugging, pulling, stroking, squeezing. Yanking her shift off over her head and putting his mouth on her teats, hungry and desperate and suckling for her milk.

She pulled him back on the bed on top of her, wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her hands under his tunic to grasp the hair on his back.

He was still fully clothed – between her legs and rutting against her bare sex in his soft leather breeches. The sensation was liquid fire – the covered bulge of his manhood grinding against her clit tore a sharp grunt of pleasure from her throat. The feeling built and built as they ground against one another.

In the pitch dark like this, it was so intense; they were bodies, not people. Sensations, not thoughts. Mindless and heedless and utterly unselfconscious.

There was the sound of panting, the wet sound of lips and tongues, the sound of the mattress creaking. The feel of Addam against Brienne, rubbing her, pressing her, lighting her afire.

“I’m going to come!” she cried in a sudden burst. Twisted her fingers in the hair on his back and threw her head back in a full-throated yell as the thrill burned through her. Perhaps Alara had a point about the screaming.

He grunted and bit her neck. He held her skin in a tight pinch between his teeth until her climax abated and then he lifted up to shove his breeches down enough to free his cock. He shoved it inside her in a single thrust.

“Gods, gods … Brienne,” he groaned. His hands were tight on her hips. Slipping up her waist, over her ribs, squeezing her breasts, then skating down her arms to her hands. He pulled her fingers to his mouth and sucked them inside.

She knew what he wanted even before he guided her hand to his arse.

He cursed and moaned as she got two fingers inside him, pushing back against her, trying to take more and more and more. He managed about five more frantic thrusts before he pulled from her body and soaked her belly with his seed.

He collapsed for a moment, the sweat of his forehead propped on her chin as he panted great gusts of hot breath on Brienne’s collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” he panted.

“You don’t have to be –“

But he was getting up. Pulling his breeches up, throwing a towel at her so she could wipe his seed from her belly. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave.”

“What? Leave? What do you mean?”

He was lighting candles now, on the far side of the bed. Brienne went to wash her hands in the bowl. “I mean _leave_. We have to go. Run. Tonight.”

Addam turned around. Brienne gasped.

His face … it was cut and bruised. Yellowing now, the cuts scabbed and dark, but _gods_.

“What happened to your face?!” Brienne was on her feet too, rushing to his side to cradle his face in her palms.

He grinned, trying to look brave. He looked anything but. “Spent the night as a guest in a Black Cell. The hosts are less than friendly.”

“What? Why? Did Tyrion find out what we’ve been …” She stopped.

He’d flinched at the mention of Tyrion’s name.

Now he pulled away from her and went to her chest of drawers. Pulled them open and started stuffing her things into a saddlebag he’d brought. Her clothes. Sapphire’s.

She watched him open-mouthed.

“What did Tyrion do to you?”

“Not Tyrion!” he shouted. “Tyrion’s head sits on a spike atop the Red Keep!”

Brienne gasped. “Wh - what?!”

“He’s _dead_ , Brienne. Executed at dawn, the day I left. The King … There are no secrets from the King.”

“Oh, Gods!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “That’s why you sent me the swords. The armour.”

He nodded. “Last time, after I left you, I went back to King’s Landing. When I got there, everything had changed.”

“How?” she asked.

“The King. His powers … Tyrion told me he’d become increasingly concerned about something he called the Black Hole.”

“What’s that?”

He flung some clothes at her – breeches and a tunic. She pulled them on as quick as she could. Laced them with shaking fingers.

“Something he couldn’t sense, something he couldn’t read – I don’t know what the King’s powers are, I thought it was magical, mystical horseshit. A tale to keep his enemies at bay. But – there was something he couldn’t see.”

“His powers are real.”

“I know that now. I saw it for myself. He goes all … white-eyed and disappears and … _fuck_.”

“What happened?! Addam!”

He took a breath. Wiped the sweat from his face. “He sent one of Tyrion’s men. Right as I was about to leave the capital. I told Kerith to ride without me – thank the gods I did. When I got to the Keep they were all waiting for me, what used to be the Kingsguard.”

Brienne’s blood ran cold. “What _used_ to be?”

Addam turned back to her and his eyes were dead, haunted things. “He calls them The Ravens.”

 _The Ravens_ …

Brienne remembered her own Kingsguard armour. Black leather, gold breastplate. Embossed with that sharp emblem of the Three-Eyed Raven.

“They aren’t … _men_ any more,” Addam said. His voice a chilling tone of ice. “Not themselves. Most of the time they say nothing, or they just make … _sounds_. Like lackwits, or men without tongues. He’s broken them somehow, got inside their heads and destroyed them.”

Brienne stood, frozen, her hands on the ties of her tunic. “Podrick …” she managed. “Podrick too?”

“All of them,” he said.

“No …” She thought she would be sick; she thought she might pass out. “Why?”

“So he can control them. Use them as his eyes and ears and sword hand. He had them beat me – or he did it himself from inside their heads.”

“He found out?” she asked. “About Tyrion, about the plot? Jaime?”

Addam shook his head. “It was all about this Black Hole.”

“What is that?”

“As I said, it’s something the King can’t see. He can’t see it and it scares him. It’s the only thing that does.”

“Why? What does it have to do with you?”

“Because the King sees my men and me riding in and out of the Black Hole. He knows we’re Tyrion’s men, that we’re headed to the Westerlands – Lannister territory. But – he can’t see anything we do. He can get a bird to fly over, but he can’t get anything back from it. He can’t see anything from anyone’s past or present who is nearby.”

“Here? You mean here? _This_ is the Black Hole?”

“Yes. In a manner of speaking.”

“Tyrion chose this place to hide his brother for that reason? So the King couldn’t see?”

But Addam was shaking his head. “It’s not the _place_. The Black Hole has moved, he said. It started in King’s Landing, right after the Dragon Queen burnt the city. But it moved here in the days after that, while the King was still in Winterfell.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s _Jaime_. The Black Hole is Jaime.”

Brienne didn’t understand.

“The King can’t see him, can’t get close to seeing him. He can’t see anything here, either, nothing at all for miles around him. Not only that but … it actively pushes him away. Hides itself – he didn’t notice it until a couple of moons past.”

“Jaime? Jaime does this?”

“Oh, I doubt he does it purposely. I’ve thought about this a lot while I was riding for you. It did not used to be so, did it? He was not the Black Hole when he was in Winterfell.”

Brienne shook her head. “Bran never said anything …”

“Then it happened when he was injured. The damage to his brain, perhaps?”

“He – he made Bran what he is. He pushed him out of a window, that’s what set him on the path to becoming the Three-Eyed Raven.”

Addam shook his head. “It matters not. Tyrion lost his head for it, and now …”

“How did you get away?”

“Tyrion’s man – he came for me in the Black Cells, helped me escape.”

“But –”

“I know. They’re following me – The Ravens. I was allowed to escape so they could find their way here, it’s obvious.”

“And you just … _led_ them here? Regardless?”

“The game’s up, Brienne. It’s over. The only thing left to do is run.” He turned back to her drawers, grabbing her smallclothes and shoving them into his bag.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“You think I’d leave you here? Leave Sapphire? I want you with me.”

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

“No, I can’t … I can’t just _leave_. What about these people? What about Jaime?”

Addam stopped what he was doing. “Your servants and the man who left you for his sister?”

“Yes! What kind of knight are you? These are innocent people.”

“Jaime is not innocent.”

“He’s a cripple. He can’t defend himself, and these women have had less than a day’s training with their swords. I’m the only one here who can truly fight. If I run …”

“Brienne, there’s seven of them. Seven Ravens, and probably a host of soldiers too. The King might not be able to see through their eyes while they’re here, but that won’t stop them from killing everyone. You don’t have a chance.”

“I don’t have a choice! Honour demands –”

“Fuck honour! This is your life … Sapphire’s life.”

That stopped Brienne short.

“Are you willing to sacrifice your babe for the sake of your honour?”

She gaped at him, thinking of Sapphire – her beautiful smile, her huge blue eyes. Who was more innocent than her child?

“All right,” she said.

He let out a sigh of relief. Started stuffing her clothes in his saddlebags again.

“Take Sapphire.”

He stopped. “What?”

“Take Sapphire, take Bancey to feed her. Protect them both with your life.”

“Do you jest? I didn’t come all this way to save the life of your wet nurse!”

“You have to!”

“No! I came here for you. For _us_. So we could be together.”

“At the cost of all these people’s lives? You should know well enough I would never do that.”

But he didn’t, she knew. He didn’t know that about her at all.

“You won’t make any difference,” he spat. “You’ll throw your life away for nothing.”

“Not for nothing.”

“For _Jaime_. Because you’re still in love with him, like the pathetic, ugly maid he sees you as.”

“No!”

“You think he’d do this for you?”

He _would_ , she already knew. He’d jumped unarmed into a bear pit for her. Pulled hordes of the screaming dead off her. Dying for her had never been a problem; it was living with her that Jaime couldn’t take.

“Any knight should do the same. I don’t pick and choose when I defend innocent folk for the sake of my cunt.”

“Nor apparently for the sake of your daughter.”

“You think I could look my daughter in the eye knowing I had abandoned all these people to their fate?”

He threw his saddlebags across the room – they landed by the door to the privy. He looked for a moment like he wanted to throttle her.

“Where is Sapphire?” he barked instead.

“She’s with Bancey. Downstairs, in her chamber.”

He gave Brienne another glare. “You had better survive this,” he cautioned her. “I’d be awful at raising a babe alone.”

She grabbed him by the face and kissed him, hard. “If I die, take her to my father on Tarth. He may have rejected me, but she – she is an innocent babe, and his granddaughter. He will find her a good family. A kind family. He –”

She could not go on. The thought of her little girl smiling for another mother, never remembering her, never knowing how tenderly Brienne had loved her …

For a moment she was tempted to forget it all and run with Addam. See her child grow, see her have babes of her own, bounce them on her knee before a roaring hearth in a house full of laughter and love and family. She wanted that so much it hurt.

“Get her,” she commanded. “Bancey too. I would say goodbye.”

He nodded and ran for the door.

Brienne went to the drawers with shaking hands, adding some more of Sapphire’s things to Addam’s saddlebags, things that she knew her babe would need. A stack of napkins. Some warm blankets, some little socks. Several of the pretty little woollen bonnets Bancey had knitted for her. It would be cold out there, riding for days through the woods and fields.

Sapphire …

Brienne wept profusely as she packed them, wishing to all the gods that she had taken Sapphire to bed with her that evening. That she had taken one last night to hold her precious daughter close, feel the soft warmth of her skin and smell the sweet soft baby scent of her.

Then Bancey came in, her face puffy from sleep, her eyes wide with fear. She was fully dressed, a cloak covering her, and Sapphire was asleep in her arms, wrapped in her bedclothes.

The sight of her babe made Brienne weep even harder, and Bancey ran to her, clinging to her with her spare arm.

“It will be all right, Ser,” Bancey promised with a smile. “You’ve trained the girls up well; you’ll hold them off.”

Brienne wanted to take Sapphire, to kiss her and hold her, but she didn’t dare. If she woke … if she cried and reached for her, Brienne knew she would never be able to let her go.

She nodded to Bancey with a watery smile – wanting her wet nurse to believe that. Needing her to. “Take care of Sapphire well. Please. I – I will find you in a few days. We all will.”

“Of course, Ser.” Bancey squeezed her arm, and then Addam was pulling her away, tugging her toward the door before Brienne had even had a chance to say goodbye.

But just as they reached Brienne’s chamber door, there was a commotion in the courtyard below. Sudden shouts. Banging – the banging of a ladle on a saucepan.

Brienne turned to the window, her tears momentarily forgotten.

She had given the women in the lookout the pans and ladles. Told them to make as much noise as they could if …

She pulled the curtains open and gasped in shock.

Torches everywhere. Dozens of them, coming out of the woods, coming down the road, approaching the walls from all directions. The torches lit horses, and soldiers – archers and swordsmen and mounted knights.

Above them, lit in a blaze of orange fire, they flew the banner of the Three-Eyed Raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! It's a big one! 
> 
> A reminder for those who may not have seen it last time, but after the next chapter, we will only be halfway through the story. We will then be switching to Jaime's POV in the next part. So watch out for "Jaime Without Brienne" after that!
> 
> Once again many thanks to everyone for the comments, the discussion and the interest this story has generated. It's been so wonderful to chat and plot with you all. It really means a lot that people are along for this ride with me and it's great to hear what you all think. 
> 
> A big thanks to the eternal patience and sweetness of my #1 girl, CaptainTarthister. She interrupted her preparations for a big family day to help me with this chapter and I owe her BIG.
> 
> Please check out the brilliant [Brienne Without Jaime playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1jWvNX9PrbT6ELvgPSvBRx?si=3_v79DiKSG2yN9aTEgPR2w) on Spotify, compiled and updated by a very lovely reader. And thank you Ulmo for sending me the tutorial on how to do clicky links on AO3! You're a star!
> 
> Lastly, if you're enjoying the story and would like teasers and story updates on this, please follow my Twitter [@StupidLannister](https://twitter.com/StupidLannister). Come and say hi and have a chat, I would love that.


	12. During

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The farm is under attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING - this chapter contains scenes which some readers may find distressing. Namely canon-typical battle violence, injury and death.

Brienne threw her gambeson on, her fingers shaking as she laced it. Stepped into her boots, ducked into her breastplate. Addam helped her fasten her pauldrons on top. He wrapped her sword belt around her waist too, his arms going around her, his eyes tender as he looked at her.

His gaze was steady but scared.

“I can’t run,” he whispered, eyes on the torches glowing in the darkness that lay impenetrable beyond the farm. “They’re all around the walls.”

Brienne nodded. Swallowed. “We’ll have to defend, then.”

But they both knew. There were a couple of hundred men holding those torches, maybe more. They would be veteran soldiers, the crown’s army, paid by the King’s coin. Brienne had forty women, green with their weapons and lacking any sort of experience.

Tonight was the night they would likely die.

Brienne could have coped with that. It wasn’t the first time she had confronted her death, and this – defending her home, carrying out her sworn duty – would be an honourable way for a knight to leave this world. But Sapphire …

She did not want Sapphire to grow up without a mother, but now there were far darker thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her good sense, too.

If those men penetrated the walls tonight, no one here would likely survive until the dawn, no matter how innocent. Battle lust made animals of men – the thought of some soldier, drunk with blood, putting her babe to the sword was an almost paralysing fear. The idea of what had happened to little Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen …

“We need to hide Sapphire,” she said to Bancey. “Put her in a box under the bed. Let her sleep, it – it might be a mercy.”

“Ser …” Bancey’s voice quivered.

Brienne closed her eyes. Clasped her wet nurse’s hand. “We can’t think about it. We have to fight.”

Bancey, brave Bancey, nodded. “I’ll defend her, Ser. To my last breath. I won’t let anyone get close.”

“I know you won’t.”

Brienne took a last look at her daughter, placed a soft kiss atop her golden curls, and fled the room.

Outside, the courtyard was a tumult of voices. The women in the lookout were still banging their pans and everywhere, from every building, Brienne’s squad ran out in a steady stream, donning armour, unsheathing swords.

Brienne shouted orders as they ran for their positions – telling them to form up at the gates, on the platforms. Brienne bitterly regretted that they had not had more time to build more defences. Those trenches would have bought them valuable time.

Behind her, someone approached. Grabbed her arm. She spun around to see Jaime, dressed haphazardly, his tunic on backwards and his boots on the wrong feet.

“Give me a sword,” he said. “Let me up on the wall.”

Brienne shook her head.

“I can fight!”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can hold a sword, can’t I? I know how to use it. Better than your wet nurse and your tavern wench.”

“You can barely keep your feet. Much less without your cane.”

“I can lean on the wall.”

“Get back in your tower, Jaime. I don’t have time for this.”

“I won’t! Give me a sword.”

Then Addam was there, too, strapping on his fancy gilded pauldrons. “She doesn’t want you there,” he said to Jaime.

“I’m an experienced battle commander; you’re really going to waste that?”

“We’re defending _you_ ,” Brienne reminded him. “If you die on the walls, what’s the point?”

She turned away from him to march toward the gates. He grabbed her arm again, almost overbalancing in the slush.

“Give me a sword!” he yelled.

“No! I mean it, Jaime. I’m not going to indulge your quest to kill yourself.”

Addam pulled Jaime’s arm off Brienne’s. “She won’t be able to defend this place properly if she’s worried about you. And you know she will.”

“Where’s Sapphire?” he asked instead. “Give me the sword; I’ll guard her.”

“No!” Brienne turned back to him, fire and terror in her eyes. “Do you not understand? They are here for _you_! If they get over the walls, they’re going to be looking for you. If they find you with her …”

“I’ll surrender, then. Now.”

“What?”

“Open the gates. I’ll hand myself over – no one else need die for my sake.”

“No!”

“You can’t win this, Brienne – you must know that. Your women are untrained, and there’s a huge force out there. You need archers, too; you don’t have a hope in all the hells without archers.”

“So you would just have me surrender?”

“Not _you_. Me.”

“No,” she said again.

“Why not? Because they’ll kill me? Is your soft maiden’s heart really still so weak for me?”

She wanted to punch him. Send him sprawling into the mud on his arse, but she knew that was what he wanted, to provoke her into letting him die.

“Because if we open those gates, then the chances are they’ll put everyone to the sword. Do you even know what’s happening here, Jaime?”

He blinked. “The King, yes? He found out that Tyrion hid me, and has come to take me for execution.”

“It’s not so simple,” Addam said.

“What, then?”

Addam looked at Brienne. Brienne looked at Addam.

Just then, the scream of arrows, dozens of them, pierced the night.

“Get down!” Brienne screamed at her women. She dived for Jaime – colliding with Addam, who’d done the same. They pinned the Kingslayer to the ground, both of them shielding his body with their armour.

“Fire!” shouted several people and Brienne looked up to see the roof of the stables had caught ablaze, as well as the upper branches of the lookout tree.

Fire arrows. She jumped to her feet.

“Get him back to the tower!” she yelled at Addam.

He obeyed, pulling Jaime to his feet and half-dragging him across the courtyard by the scruff of his neck. She heard Jaime shouting and cursing the whole way.

“Fetch water!” Brienne screamed at a passing kitchen maid, running from the servants’ quarters with her breastplate half undone. “As much as you can, get everyone you pass to fill buckets.”

“Yes, Ser!” the girl replied, her face white with fear. Brienne recognised her as Elen – she was an orphan girl of three-and-ten who loved to feed the stray cats who wandered into the farm from time to time.

“Ser!” a short woman in armour collided with her, almost falling on her arse as she did. It was Nira, her face ashen and streaked with tears.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Nira could only point.

Up on the walls, there was a commotion – Brienne ran as fast as she could, to see the women pulling something down one of the ladders. It was Selsa the cook, an arrow sticking out of her neck.

Darlyne and Alara were both near-hysterical, both bloody to the elbows. Selsa saw Brienne with glassing eyes and tried to speak – nothing but a surge of bloody bubbles came from her mouth.

“Take her to the maester!” Brienne told them, just as another flight of arrows screamed through the air.

Brienne threw herself backwards, against the gates, watching in horror as the arrows rained down on the courtyard. One caught Darlyne in the back, glancing off her breastplate with a spray of sparks. Instinctively, the tavern girl turned to bat it away – and caught a second arrow, right through her cheek.

The speed of it turned the woman’s face into a burning, bloody horror. Nira screamed – a thin high wail of horror and terror. Darlyne pitched forward into the snow on top of Selsa’s body.

Then another wave of arrows came, and the screaming was everywhere.

This one caught the first wave of firefighters as they ran from the well with their buckets. They missed young Elen – thank the gods – but the farm boy behind her was struck in the chest, and the old woman behind him got one through the shoulder.

Elen froze in place, splattered with blood, dropping the water bucket that was bound for the stables.

The stable roof was well alight now, and several more fires had started elsewhere. Smoke billowed from the back wall of the barn, and one of the barrels outside the tower had been set alight, too. The farm boys were dashing to the stables, freeing the horses, yelling and screaming to each other. The snow had put most of the arrows out on impact, but the fires they _had_ started would soon be a problem.

Brienne grabbed Nira, who was still screaming, and shook her so hard her armour rattled.

“Nira!”

“S-ser?” The handmaid turned her pallid face to Brienne.

“We have to put the fires out. The stables … we have to get on top of this.”

Nira shook her head. “I’m – I’m not – Dar – Darlyne …“

“You _must_! It can’t be allowed to spread!”

Nira blinked, looking around her at the chaos and panic. She swallowed, and nodded. “Yes, Ser.”

“Help Elen. Get the buckets. Get the fires out.”

“Yes, Ser!”

The handmaid swallowed her tears. Brienne was proud of her – for a woman who had spent her life tending to highborn ladies, she was made of strong stuff. Nira ducked low and ran around the perimeter of the wall, edging towards where Elen cowered. Brienne watched her go with her heart in her mouth – she did not want to see her handmaid die.

Another wave of fire arrows streaked through the sky,

More screams – from above, and Brienne turned to see the body of another woman fall from the platform. She crashed onto her back in the mud below. It was too dark to see who she was, but the silhouette of an arrow stuck out from her eye.

A stream of women came screaming down the ladder, bumping and jostling stumbling and falling over one another to get away.

Belatedly, Brienne saw that the platform was on fire.

“On the gates!” she screamed. They couldn’t do anything from the platforms, she realised, not under such heavy fire from the archers. They needed bows of their own to keep the attackers at bay – trying to drop those rocks would be a massacre.

For a moment, Brienne’s own panic swept over her, threatening to overwhelm her ability to think. What in all the hells was she going to do? How had Jaime ever done this? Commanding a flank was one thing; putting together an entire battle plan and executing it on the field was quite another. She didn’t have the experience; she didn’t have the knowledge.

But the women were working – her commands were cutting through the desperate mania of a few moments ago. Her squad trusted her, believed in her. They thought she could save their lives.

“Brace the gates!” she shouted. At least this was something they had drilled.

The two lines formed immediately, the women rushing to pick up the tree trunks they had stored by the gates, wedging them beneath the extra bracing struts Brienne and Bancey had installed a fortnight past.

Arrows rained down again, but this time everyone was close to the walls, and no one was hit.

The women hammered the trunks into place and ran to their next formation.

Brienne looked frantically about to see where Nira and Elen might have gone, but couldn’t see them anywhere. The stables were well alight now, and smoke billowed across the courtyard, enough to make Brienne’s eyes sting. Horses ran loose; there were shouts and screams in the darkness, but … nothing coming from the other side of the wall. Nothing at all.

It hadn’t occurred to her before now. But there had been no demands, no attempt to ask for surrender. No siege. Just an attack in the night from the dark. And their enemy was utterly silent. No shouts, no grunts, no orders yelled to the men.

An army of one man in two hundred bodies. The thought chilled her to the bone.

If Addam had it right, then Bran couldn’t see them. The Black Hole that was Jaime prevented his powers from working here. But he had sent his men here full of one purpose – destroy everything. Kill everyone. He would want nothing left.

They came straight for the gates – Brienne heard the crunch of their boots in the snow and the collective intake of breath before the hefty bang of a battering ram. The gates shook, a spray of snow hitting the women waiting behind. Some of them took a step back.

“Stand your ground!” Brienne shouted. The Ravens had chosen to break down the gates – perhaps they could form a choke point …

The battering ram hit again with a crunch.

Just then, Addam ran out from the smoke of the courtyard, a shield over his head with a couple of arrows buried in the soft wood. He coughed his lungs up, his eyes streaming.

“I need some men!” he shouted when he caught his breath. “Women – whatever! They’re coming over the walls by the barn!”

“Alara!” Brienne shouted, just as the gates shuddered with another thud from the battering ram. “Take your team!”

Alara nodded. Clenched her fist on the hilt of her sword. “Come on!” she encouraged her little squad of five. “Follow Ser Ginger!”

Addam did a double-take at the handmaid but said no more before he led the women off into the smoke.

The gates crunched again, this time a long crack appeared in the wood. Only four hits, four hits and they were failing. Tyrion should have sunk more Lannister gold into defences, Brienne thought desperately. A portcullis, a moat … murder holes. A proper castle wall.

How was she meant to defend Jaime like this?

She felt a bead of sweat slide down her ribs. Bran’s men would be inside the walls in just a few minutes. This was it – they either stopped them, or they died.

She thought of Sapphire, of her beautiful smile. The winter sun kissing her golden curls and dancing in her pretty blue eyes. Brienne had never been one too bothered for prayer, but now she made a silent plea to every god there was that her daughter might live to see the summer. That she might live to see the dawn.

She thought of Addam, how good he’d looked riding through the gates atop his beautiful bay. The way he’d stirred her body, made her feel alive and free and like something desirable. She had wanted so much to spend more time with him, to see if their attraction was only physical or if maybe …

She thought of Jaime, too. Of course she did. How hard she had loved him, how much loving him had hurt. She thought of the taste of his mouth and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. How his hand had shifted its grip on the hilt of Widow’s Wail, before he’d lifted it to knight her. The low, needy cry he had given the first time he had come to his pleasure inside her.

Yes. Let her last thoughts be of love, of how it felt to love and be loved.

She clung to them desperately as the gate splintered further—a fist-sized hole, and then a head-sized one. And then the long crack finally gave way, the first man kicking his way through. Brienne roared and surged towards him, shoving her sword into his neck before his foot had crossed the threshold.

The hot glut of his blood washed over her hands, and his eyes went a pure, weird white for a moment before he slumped to the ground. She pulled her sword back with a grunt of victory and satisfaction.

But then the battering ram hit the gates again and broke them utterly.

Brienne was all but knocked off her feet by the surge of men pouring in from the other side. She staggered back, catching the sweep of the first sword that fell on her, missing the second which thankfully glanced off her pauldron.

The world narrowed into the tumult of footsteps, of swordswings, of screams and blistering smoke. By Brienne’s side, the girl who milked the cows crossed swords with a man twice her size, parrying his monstrous thrust. Two washerwomen in front of her attacked a soldier who had just stepped through the gates, catching him by surprise. By the logs, Brienne saw the undercook – a portly woman named Carlys – she fought a man with a bloody sword and those same white eyes.

As Brienne watched, the man ploughed through Carlys’ defence in two swings of his broadsword. She was solid for a woman of five and a half feet tall, but the man she fought stood head and shoulders above her, and had years of experience. Her moves with the sword were little more than elementary, and his feint and his footwork easily fooled her.

Brienne tried to push forward, to get to her, but the melee was thick. As she watched, the soldier stumbled Carlys with his foot, knocking her to the ground. He pushed his sword through her neck in one swift thrust.

He turned away from her and rammed his sword into the back of one of the washerwomen. Brienne saw the girl’s mouth fall open in pain and shock, saw the blood bubble up from her throat. As she died, her eyes found Brienne’s across the scrum – terror and a plea for help.

Another volley of fire arrows came over the walls, burning red comets in the smoky night. Brienne could see that the servants’ quarters were alight now too, the roof and the upstairs shutters.

If Nira and Elen were still firefighting, if they still lived, they had no hope to contain it now.

Suddenly, a shape lurched out of the smoke at Brienne’s back. She twisted just in time, catching his swordthrust with a yell and pushing him back. She didn’t give him a chance to recover before she attacked with a flurry of her own, raining blows down on him one after the other—the first three he caught, the fourth took his arm off at the elbow. She drove her sword through his face with a guttural cry. Kicked his body aside.

More men ran in from the darkness; when the smoke parted, she caught brief glimpses of them swarming over the walls from every direction. They were inside now; the farm had fallen.

A leaden sickness settled in Brienne’s belly – the severed head of a kitchen maid rolled past her feet, and behind her, she heard the dying screams of another of her women.

She ran forward to meet the King’s soldiers, trying desperately to keep as many away from her squad as she could. She hacked wildly at the tide of incoming men, stabbing and slashing and kicking and biting, screaming and snarling and foaming at the mouth like some rabid dog.

Inexplicably, Addam had reached her, was fighting with her, a long bloody slash from his eye to his jaw.

“Give it up!” he roared over the sounds of the battle. “The farm is lost!”

“I won’t!” she yelled back, grabbing the gorget of the man she fought and yanking him close to headbutt him senseless. She ran her sword through his guts with a grimace.

“There’s too many of them!”

She knew that, of course she knew that. She had known that from the first moment she had peered over the walls from her bedroom window. But she had to fight – she couldn’t let these women die.

“Are you a Knight or a Lady?” she jeered at Addam. “Have some honour, ser!”

“The farmhouse is _on fire_ , Brienne!”

That penetrated her battle fury like an icy dagger in her heart. She spared a glance between swordswings – he was right. The roof was undamaged, but _inside_ … fire glowed from the windows. How -?

“Sapphire! Did Bancey get out? Did she—”

“I don’t know!”

“Oh, gods!”

For all her honour, Brienne didn’t hesitate. She pushed forward, not just holding her defence now but cutting a path through their attackers, towards the farmhouse. Addam followed, side by side, hacking and slashing the same as she.

“Go back!” she yelled at him as he took the head clean off a boy no older than eight-and-ten. “Take command!”

“What?”

“The women need you – they’ll die without you!”

He looked at her like she had taken leave of her senses. “They’re – what?!”

“Please!” she begged. “Please don’t let them die.”

For a moment she thought he might strangle her in rage. Instead, he jabbed a finger in her direction and turned away without a word, fighting his way back to the pinned group of women.

The courtyard was a hellish vision – bodies, loose horses, fire and murder and bedlam. The King’s men wandered around unfettered, putting the torch to everything they could find. Executing anyone who ran from the burning buildings.

They were armed and armoured and walked like men, but something about them reminded Brienne of the dead they had fought at Winterfell. Expressionless faces. Silent. Relentless.

By the blazing shell of the stables, Brienne’s eyes caught something – someone – different. The flickering flames cast him into a sharp silhouette, but she knew the shape of him anywhere. Knew the sword in his hand, as well.

Podrick Payne.

Her heart almost burst from grief – it was true, then. Bran had twisted him, warped his mind and turned him into one of his Ravens.

Suddenly, Pod’s head snapped up as if he had somehow sensed her gaze, centring right on her across the courtyard. He started walking towards her. Brienne turned and ran.

She kicked open the door to the farmhouse, and a blistering heat smacked her hard in the face. To her right, the guest room, the one that had been Addam’s, was ablaze. The window was smashed and a torch had been thrown onto the bed.

“Bancey!” she screamed, and ran up the stairs.

The landing was a mess – the rug she had put down to stop Jaime slipping was rucked against the door. A tapestry had been torn down and there was a slash from a sword newly scratched in the wall.

Brienne yelled Bancey’s name again, muttering a desperate prayer to all the gods.

It was then she saw the blood. A pool of it, soaked up into the rug, running from under the door.

Brienne’s whole body shuddered. She threw open the door, terrified about what she would see on the other side.

There was a dark shape by her bed, prone on the floor. A man in armour, city watch armour, sprawled on his back, eyes open and glassy. He had a poker, the one from Brienne’s fireplace, through his neck.

_Bancey_. Bancey had always practised with that poker, back before Addam had gifted them the swords. She knew it better than her new weapon by far.

“Bancey!” she shouted again.

Brave Bancey. Brave, wonderful Bancey had killed this man to save Sapphire. But where had she gone? Brienne rounded the bed to try to peer out of the window, to see if she might spot her. Stopped short with a cry.

Bancey was there, on her side, down by the side of the bed, her arms reaching underneath. Blood everywhere.

“No …” She rolled her wet nurse over to see a big messy wound in her belly. “Oh no, Bancey, no …” Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t breathing.

Brienne picked up her limp and lifeless hand and kissed it. But she had no more time to say goodbye.

She lunged under the bed, finding a rough wooden crate there, stuffed with pillows. She pulled it out, her heart in her mouth. Sapphire was nestled in the middle, still peacefully asleep, one hand curled up next to her face.

“Oh thank the gods,” she gasped, pulling her babe up and to her chest.

Sapphire started awake and let out a wail. Brienne shushed her and rocked her a little and she settled at the scent of her mother, snuggling into the warmth of her neck. Brienne staggered to her feet and grabbed the bags Addam had packed. She turned for the door.

Podrick was there. Looking at her, looking at Sapphire.

“Pod …” Brienne started, but she could already tell that it wasn’t him. Not truly. His face was slack, his eyes flickering white, his tongue lolling at the corner of his mouth. He let out a moan that sounded like one of the dead.

He lifted Oathkeeper.

“Oh Podrick please don’t,” she pleaded. “It’s me … don’t you see me? And look … look, this is Sapphire! You were with me when she came into this world. You held my hand and helped me and you –”

Podrick swung his sword. Utterly expressionless. Brienne dodged backwards, drawing her own weapon.

“Please …” she begged.

She caught his next swing with her own blade, using her superior size and strength to push him back. If she could disarm him, incapacitate him …

But holding Sapphire hampered her quite significantly. Not only was the weight on her left side wrong, but she had to be careful to keep her babe shielded and not drop her, either.

Podrick came back in a flurry of blows, but she knew him. She knew his attack patterns, knew his footwork, knew each twitch of each muscle and how to read what he was going to do next. She blocked them all with ease.

For anyone else, Ser Podrick Payne would have been a formidable opponent. But Brienne had taught him everything he knew. However Bran was controlling him, however he had erased the man she’d known with the easy smile and the kind heart, he hadn’t touched Pod’s combat skills.

His eyes flickered white again and he let out a pained sound, as if the sensation hurt him.

He came at her again, a brutal swing aimed at her head that she only just caught. The swords crashed above her head, sparking and sliding together.

Oathkeeper sang its beautiful song – there had always been something mournful about the sound of the metal as it rang in combat, a bittersweet note of Brienne and Jaime, Jaime and Brienne.

Time slowed then – Brienne walked a circle around Pod and he around her. Foot over foot, step after step. Strokes with her cheap plain sword singing in her hand, dull and wretched and filled with only her own misery—the half-life of Brienne without Jaime.

Sapphire started to cry. The smell of smoke grew stronger.

Pod’s dead eyes flickered again, pure white and back. His hand tensed on the golden hilt. His head tilted ever so slightly. Ever so slightly to his right.

He lunged, the muscles in his arm straining against the deep black of his gambeson, Oathkeeper aimed not at Brienne.

The rippled steel glowed orange in the firelight from outside, its point a deadly arrow, a hate and a spite. Sweeping through the air towards Sapphire.

Brienne screamed. Terror and horror and rage and fury. She plunged her sword into Podrick’s throat, opening him up in a spray of heat and blood and fear.

His eyes went wide and for a second, just a second, the blankness went from them and he was Pod again. Then Oathkeeper clattered to the ground from his lifeless hand, and he slid off her sword to the floor.

“Oh no … no … no Podrick! Pod … Pod!” Brienne fell to her knees, Sapphire still wailing, clamping her hand over the wound she had made in Pod’s neck. She knew it was no good – his head was barely attached, and already the life had drained from his eyes.

But all she could see was the boy he had been, smiling and eager as he rode badly on his horse beside her up the Kingsroad. His shame and chagrin as he had set fire to the rabbit she had caught. His furrowed brow, his little nod that had encouraged her to stand up and be knighted. The soft words of encouragement he had whispered as she had pushed Sapphire into this world.

She had killed him. She had. Killed Podrick with her own hand and her own sword.

His blood ran down the burnished gold of his breastplate and into the emblem of the Three-Eyed-Raven. No.

It was Bran who had killed him, not Brienne. Bran who had broken him, Bran who had twisted him, Bran who had sent him here to kill and be killed.

The smoke was thick now, and it had started to pour under the door. Brienne got to her feet, beginning to cough and choke, as was Sapphire. The door was warm when she touched it, and opening it, she saw nothing but fire. Fire on the stairs, fire in the hallway, fire licking at the walls and floors and ceilings.

She flung the door shut and ran for the window.

That was no good, either – even if she had broken it, the fire raged out front in the courtyard, too. It seemed like part of the wall had collapsed, or perhaps it was the tree that had fallen? If she jumped out of the window, even if she avoided breaking both her legs, they would land in fire all the same.

They were trapped.

Brienne looked about frantically, trying to think, trying to stop her eyes streaming and her throat from choking on the acrid smoke.

A desperate idea came to her. Desperate and terrible.

She pulled the furs from the bed, wrapped poor, screaming, choking Sapphire in them on the floor. Picked up Addam’s saddlebags, went for her sword.

Instead, she picked up Oathkeeper. Its familiar weight felt right in her hand, like it belonged to her once again. She sheathed it. Hefted her bundle and her baby and ran for the privy.

Like all the privies on the farm, it overhung the building, buttressed at the side of the house over the privy pit below. The pit was deep, and full of shit, but because this was a farm, there was a trapdoor where the farm boys could access it and use it to spread on the fields for fertiliser. If she could get to the door …

She kicked frantically at the wooden seat of the privy, splintering the planks with the heel of her boot. Yanking them off, throwing them aside. Below was nothing but darkness and the foul smell of a pit full of human shit. She moaned and retched – it was the last thing she wanted to jump into.

But the smoke was so thick now, and the heat was furious. Brienne couldn’t risk waiting any longer. She muttered a quick prayer to the Mother, and jumped.

She caught her head on the side of the hole as she went, knocking her half-unconscious before she’d even landed. Even as she fell, she tried to twist to shield Sapphire, take the brunt of the landing herself.

Brienne hit the bottom in a scream of pain. The agony lanced up her spine, flared down her legs, sent a blinding flash across her vision. She knew at once that she was hurt. Badly hurt. Sapphire …

Sapphire was crying, loudly and lustily, held afloat in the pit by the bundle of furs she was wrapped in. Brienne was up to her neck in the shit, the smell overwhelming, the blow to her head making her reel and see stars. She could see the trapdoor – there was a stone ramp leading up to it for the boys to get their carts in and out. If she could get to it, she could drag herself out …

She screamed as she tried to move – that same blinding pain went through her body like a bolt of lightning. She tried again, desperately trying to will her body to move through the pain, to get to the door, but it was no good. Something wasn’t working.

Outside, she could hear screams and shouts and the roaring crackle of the fires—horses’ hooves and the clang of steel. All of that was shrinking away. In here, in the pit, there was only Sapphire. Sapphire crying. The whine of her head, her own panted breaths.

The world shrunk again, and then there was only blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to say this in big capital letters in case you missed my previous notes - THIS IS NOT THE END!!!!!!!
> 
> The story will continue in part 2, Jaime Without Brienne, the first part of which I hope to have out next week. Please keep your eyes peeled or follow me on Twitter [@StupidLannister](https://twitter.com/StupidLannister) or Tumblr [@catherineflowers29](https://tumblr.com/catherineflowers29) for teasers and announcements.
> 
> A big thanks to all the followers of this story who have kept me inspired with all your lovely comments and thoughts and good wishes. I can't tell you how much it's meant to have your encouragement and praise for a fic that I worried would get serious hate. I can honestly say I haven't had one single negative comment from anyone who has actually read it! It's so lovely to see so many of you feel the same way I do.
> 
> An extra big thanks as always to CaptainTarthister. She (and her cats) have been my biggest cheerleaders and my support and hand-holding and everything lovely there is. Thank you, dear. 
> 
> Please do check out this amazing Brienne Without Jaime [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1jWvNX9PrbT6ELvgPSvBRx?si=3_v79DiKSG2yN9aTEgPR2w) compiled and updated by a very lovely reader. Huge thanks to her for creating and sharing it, I've loved her selections throughout.
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed the last chapter of Brienne Without Jaime, catch you all soon for Jaime Without Brienne!


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